


House Rules

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beetlejuice mentioning his mother's Bad Parenting, Found Family, Learning about yourself, Multi, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a slow burn for the FREAKING ages, and loving yourself, and now for the good stuff, and yes:, being stupid but in a Cool Demon way, coming to terms with your mommy issues, mentions of drug use (nothing graphic), still chaotic but learning boundaries, teeny weenie pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 79,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: No one in the Deetz Household hadplannedon summoning Beetlejuice... but emergencies happen. Sometimes when you're trapped, you do the unthinkable. In the case of one Lydia Deetz, you summon a demon.Now Beetlejuice is back and unable to return to the Netherworld due to unforeseen circumstances, and a blocked pathway to the Netherworld is never a good sign.Rules are set in place for Beetlejuice to follow, but can he live up to expectations?Or willrulesbe the death of him?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Comments: 103
Kudos: 625





	1. Safe Place

It was a quiet evening. The kind of late-autumn evening that breeds cold breezes that work a chill down the spine of anyone stupid enough to be caught outside and unaware. The Deetz family didn’t plan to be there, out in the shivering, dark cold. The sun had set much, much earlier, leaving Charles, Lydia, and Delia to walk back to their car in darkness that was heavy with cold, cold air.

“Can’t believe I let him talk me into this,” Charles grumbled as he fingered his car keys. Lydia gave him a look, her hands tucked under her arms. Her father had already taken off his suit coat and draped it over her shoulders, trying to keep her cozy as they searched for the car. “Meeting for dinner, _downtown_ , at this time of night?”

Delia shivered where she was curled under his arm, absorbing all the warmth she could find. “It was a—” she sniffled, “Promising business opportunity!”

“Snail farming?” Charles asked irritably, his nose bright red from the cold. He scrubbed a hand over his face and hit the lock button on the keys. In the distance of the dark parking structure, the lights of his car flickered. The Deetz’s collectively groaned. “Well, we’re closer than before.”

“This is stupid,” Lydia groaned as she shuffled closer to her father. Complacently, he put an arm over her shoulders and drew her close, acting as a bracketing source of warmth for both women as they trudged around the poorly-lit parking garage. With a pointed sniffle, she looked up at her father and said, “No more ‘snail farm’ business dinners, Dad.”

“Agreed,” Charles grumbled before he kissed the top of her head.

She liked that. It was one of those comforting things that he only used to do when he was happy and with her… well, her dead mom. Now she had a new one. A step-mom to be precise. And she didn’t _dislike_ Delia. The energy was just different… and she’d have to adjust.

It was startling to think that, only a few short months ago, she had been seconds away from jumping off the roof of the house. Hoping that somehow, someway, it would make things better. But it wouldn’t. She knew that now. Who had changed her mind? One particular demon: Beetlejuice.

Yes, he was a mess. Yes, he had been wild. And yes, he was probably a terrible influence. But he had made a point. She was better off being alive and happy with her family. Sure, she missed him. But that happened with every person that came and went in her life. When you meet someone and then part ways, they don’t just disappear into the void without care or thought… they linger in your thoughts, even if just for a while. And you miss them when they’re gone. Beetlejuice was no exception.

This didn’t mean she was going to call him out of nowhere; no, he had been on a mission. Trying to find his real father, or something like that. She wouldn’t summon him without reason… especially when he’d left a sharp, bitter taste in his father and Delia’s mouth. Of course, he’d saved their lives from Juno, and he’d been sent off with a lackluster goodbye… but there was still tension in the air when his name (or even his influence) was brought up in casual conversation.

Lydia Deetz was not going to summon her best friend out of nowhere. Not without reason. But that reason was coming at her without any warning in the form of three shapes emerging from the shadows of the parking structure. Charles didn’t stop their little procession, choosing instead to hold them close and walk with confidence. Lydia stayed tucked under his arm. Delia reached around his back to give Lydia’s shoulder a squeeze. It was a show of attempted comfort; but it didn’t work.

The three shapes were three men dressed in heavy hoodies and baggy pants. They had their hands in their pockets. They were effectively blocking their path to the car. They could turn around and return to the restaurant… but it was nearly past midnight. It was bound to be closed by now. Besides, turning their backs to these men would be a decidedly bad choice. Lydia leaned against her father a little more.

“Dad…”

“It’s alright,” he said, the low growl in his voice giving hard implications against that statement. “It’s fine. Just stick close, girls.”

So she did. She held close to her father, avoiding the beady-eyed stares of the men in the shadows. Delia’s heels _click, clack, clicked_ against the concrete. Their breath was clouding in the air. Lydia shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. When they were just about to pass the men, one pulled out a switchblade and stepped in their way.

“Alright,” he said, smug and sharp where his blade glinted in the far-away light of the streetlamps. Lydia glowered at him, but the mugger made no move to back down. “Just gimme your wallet and keys, and nobody gets hurt.”

Charles hesitated, and Lydia snapped, “Like _fuck_ we’re giving you anything!”

Without warning, one of the other muggers grabbed her arm. He had big hands, hands that were large enough to wrap around her entire bicep and hold tight as he sneered at her. She flinched, her body seizing with panic as her words caught in her throat. Charles was quick to react, though, taking her other arm and pulling her back against his chest, safe and sound.

“Don’t you _dare_ lay a finger on my little girl.”

Lydia shivered; she normally felt so confident. Where was this fear coming from? Why did it feel like she was shrinking? When her father started to reach into his pocket for his wallet, Lydia gaped at him. “Dad?”

“I don’t want either of you hurt,” he said stiffly as he handed his wallet to the man with the knife. The man took it… and one of the other muggers – the one that had grabbed Lydia’s arm – pulled out a gun. They didn’t back away, and Charles shifted where he stood. "You have my wallet. Please, just… let us leave.”

“Keys, old man,” the one with the gun said, his voice lower and scratcher than the first. “Give us the keys.”

Delia twitched where she was held to Charles’ side. “We won’t be able to get home—”

“Do I look like I _give a fuck_?” The one with the knife snapped. Maybe he was the ringleader. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Lydia was shaking. She’d never been genuinely scared before… not with the Maitlands, not in the Netherworld, and not even with Beetlejuice. How was it that _human beings_ were scarier than a literal demon?

The mugger waved the unarmed man toward Delia, ordering him to take her purse. Delia put up a fight, struggling to hold onto her purse as Charles told her to give it up. “It’s not worth your life, Delia,” he said, an arm tight around her waist as she bristled and snarled at the mugger. Charles seemed stone-faced… but there was fear, there. Lingering in the back of his eyes as he struggled to hold his composure.

Lydia couldn’t believe what she was seeing; the last time her father had been _afraid_ was when they had been stuck in the Netherworld. This was supposed to a normal night. A business dinner and nothing eventful. This was crazy. Stupid. It happened to _other people_ but not to _them_. Which was ridiculous, considering the nonsense they’d put up with months ago. Lydia blinked in recognition; _that was it._

While two muggers began to look through Delia’s purse – the one with the gun kept the barrel aimed at Charles – Lydia leaned into her father’s shoulder and whispered, “Beetlejuice.”

Charles went rigid, staring down at her with acute alarm. “Lydia, I don’t think—”

“If he would help anyone, it would be Lydia,” Delia said, her voice still prickly as she glared at the mugger. Lydia was surprised to hear her support but took the vague permission and ran with it.

“Beetlejuice,” said Lydia, a second, quiet repetition.

Charles gripped Lydia’s shoulder so tight, she was sure there would be bruises on her shoulder when he let go. “That man almost _killed_ us,” he hissed. “You think calling him back would be best?”

“He was a troubled soul.” She said softly. “Lydia and I have talked about this. He just wanted to be alive,” Delia stage-whispered back, clearly ready for any help that could be managed, regardless of where it came from. “And he _also saved_ our lives from that other demon, didn’t he? Let him help if he can, Charles.”

At that, Charles said nothing. Lydia braced herself, chancing a quick glance up at her father. The muggers had found Delia’s wallet and phone and pocketed them. They were coming back for Charles’ keys. Lydia waited, looking up at him… and received a small, tense nod.

She took a quick breath and mumbled, “ _Beetlejuice.”_

It happened fast.

The gun went off without warning and Charles shouted in alarm, pushing Lydia and Delia out of the way as he fell back in surprise. Lydia stumbled, hitting the concrete hard when she tripped over her own feet. The muggers shouted – Delia was screaming – where was her father? She looked up frantically, only to see the street lights had begun to flicker dangerously. There were rapid images of the scene unfolding before her like a quick-flash slideshow of violence.

She saw the mugger with the gun cradling a mangled, bloody hand. The gun had backfired, tearing into his hand and leaving him with a few fingers that resembled ground meat. While the other muggers started to run, one was strung up from the lamppost on the corner, his thin, denim beltloop being the only thing keeping him from falling two-stories onto hard concrete. The other mugger simply vanished into the ground. He stumbled, pinwheeled his arms, and fell into _nothing_. He didn’t reappear.

And Lydia saw him standing there among the flashing, flickering light. She saw the grimy, striped suit. She saw his hair glowing a dangerous red. She saw his hands tucked calmly in his pockets. When the mugger with the gun looked up at him, Beetlejuice grinned a wicked grin that Lydia had the displeasure of receiving once, long ago.

“You should start screaming now,” Beetlejuice growled. “Gets me _excited_.”

There wasn’t even a beat of pause before the man booked it in the opposite direction. If he screamed, Lydia didn’t hear it. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. Her arms and legs were shaking. She looked back to Beetlejuice, and the red was gone. His hair was that same, familiar green… if not for the shock of white that dusted the tips of his hair.

He swayed a little where he stood, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. “Hey, kid,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the mugger hanging from the lamppost. The man struggled, kicked… and his beltloop tore. Lydia heard a loud, earthy _crack_ as he hit the concrete. Beetlejuice shrugged and looked back to Lydia. “Long uh… long time no see. I think.” His face scrunched up. “How long as it been since I was here? Time moves weird for you breathers and I think—”

Lydia was scrambling up before she could think, already throwing herself at Beetlejuice as she let out a shaky, scared breath. “Beej,” she said, glad to see him there, in the flesh, real and soft and cold under her grip as she pressed her face into his chest. She’d missed him, this weird, chaotic uncle of a person. The mess of a man who stopped her from jumping those months ago. The man who… Lydia sniffed. That was interesting. He didn’t smell nearly as bad. If anything, he smelled like dust and mothballs. She squeezed him a little harder. “Beetlejuice, I… fuck, I can’t believe you _came_ , I was just…”

Beetlejuice was stiff in her embrace, looking around the parking structure oddly. “You… you said my name, kid. _You_ summoned _me._ ”

“I know,” she stuttered, “But… but I can’t believe you… like, you actually came back. After I stabbed you.” She paused, “With a weird sculpture.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one who’s tried to kill me before,” he said with an awkward pat to the top of her head. “Probably won’t be the last either.” He glanced over to where Charles was helping Delia back to her feet. “Oh _hey_ , Charlie. Got you a present.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Charles. Lydia peeked over her shoulder; it was his wallet. Charles opened it, looking to make sure everything was still there… and looked up at Beetlejuice, clearly surprised that his wallet was, indeed, intact. “Thank… thank you, Mr. Juice.”

Beetlejuice snorted at that before he reached behind Lydia’s back and pulled out Delia’s purse. He dangled the strap on one finger, batting his eyelashes dramatically as he said, “Hey, Donna. Don’t want you to feel left out, so I got you a goodie-bag. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“It’s Delia,” said Delia, a little fluttery as she took her purse. “But thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Beetlejuice looked down to where Lydia had her face smooshed against his chest. “You realize I haven’t cleaned this suit since… Jesus, what year is it?”

Lydia didn’t let go. Her legs were still shaking. She still felt a little sick to her stomach. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment before leaning her head against Beetlejuice’s chest again. “I can’t believe… like, you hear about people getting mugged, but you never think it’ll be _you_.”

Beetlejuice nodded sagely. “You hear about people getting stabbed with bad art, but you never think it’ll be _you_.” Lydia tried to laugh, she really did, but something else bubbled up in her chest. It was more like a cough, a frustrating, scared sob that tore out of her throat as she buried her face in Beetlejuice’s tired, dusty suitcoat. Clearly alarmed, Beetlejuice waved his hands over her shoulders, unsure of what to do with her. “Woah! Woah, kid, jeez, I—what the Hell did I do?”

Charles stepped forward, attempting to untangle her from Beetlejuice gently. “Lydia. Lydia, sweetheart, it’s been… _quite_ a night, lets… let’s get you home. Thank you, Mr. Juice, but I think we need to take her home.”

Beetlejuice shrugged, still unable to slip out of Lydia’s grip. “Yeah, well… I’m busy anyway. Places to go, people to scare, ghosts to guide…” He gave Lydia’s back a stiff pat. She didn’t let go. “Jesus, and people call _me_ clingy.”

Lydia gave him a dark look. It obviously didn’t work, seeing as his hair was fading to a deep, dark blue. His humor from earlier seemed out of place now, like he wasn’t sure where he fit in the space. Lydia’s hands fisted in his jacket, holding onto frayed seams and crooked stripes as she said, “Wh-what if they come back?”

Beetlejuice arched a single eyebrow. “They won’t. Seriously. Gave them the fright of their lives just for you, Lyds.”

Lydia tugged on his jacket. “But _what if they come back_?”

Charles put a hand on her shoulder, gently trying to pull her away to no avail. “Lydia, please—”

“You’re scared of them?” Beetlejuice asked incredulously, his arms still limp at his sides while Lydia clung to him. His purple hair was quickly brightening to a soft, pastel yellow. “Kid, you’re one of the funnest, scariest breathers I know. And… you’re scared of those jokers?” He laughed, but the sound was tense and caught in his throat. “You losin’ your edge, big-shot?”

With a frown, Lydia’s vision wobbled. She didn’t want to cry. Not anymore. Crying was obnoxious and it made her head hurt and her eyes sting and her makeup smear… but Beetlejuice smelled like dusty, tired library books and damp laundry left in the washing machine too long. He was different… but the same. Still funny, still stupid… but softer, somehow. And that softness was wearing at her. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Beetlejuice’s hair quickly dampened back to a deep blue.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she said, a little shakily. She let go of Beetlejuice, half expecting him to disappear so he could remove himself from the awkwardness of the situation. He didn’t. He stayed where he was, his hands wringing at his sides and his brow furrowed with confusion. Lydia let Delia put a safe, comforting arm around her as she blubbered, “I… I didn’t—didn’t know… what to do, I…” she looked at him, gesturing uselessly. “So I called you, and—”

“You knew I’d come,” Beetlejuice said, a little in-awe of this conclusion. “You actually wanted me to come save the day like some… fuckin’… super-demon.”

“And we’re glad you did,” Delia said, bright and warm despite the heaviness of their situation. She rubbed Lydia’s shoulder a bit, perhaps to comfort her or perhaps to keep her warm. Either one was nice. Lydia leaned into her as Charles pulled out his car keys. Delia smiled at Beetlejuice. “Thank you.”

Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose. “ _Really_ weird having people _thank_ me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you’re coming onto me, Darla?”

“Delia,” she corrected pointedly before flashing her wedding ring. “And I’m married, thank you.”

Beetlejuice held a hand to his chest. “Wow. An offer for a threesome when we _hardly_ know each other.” He raised a hand and whispered behind it theatrically. “Is Chuckles gonna be the third person, or do I get to phone a friend?”

“Alright,” Charles grumbled, “I think that’s enough humor for one evening. Let’s go, ladies,” he gestured down the ramp where the car was still parked and motioned for Lydia and Delia to follow. “It’s late. We’re exhausted. We’ve been through an ordeal. Let’s go home.”

“Dad,” Lydia said, a little shaky as she glanced back at Beetlejuice. “Can… can Beej come with?”

Charles stopped in his tracks, giving Beetlejuice a long, hard look before he looked to Lydia blankly. “Why?”

“’cause… I want him to?” Lydia said a little numbly. Next to her, Beetlejuice snickered, and Lydia smiled. “It just… I don’t know. I’d feel better if he came with.”

Charles fumbled with his keys, obviously fighting with himself. He clearly wasn’t comfortable with Beetlejuice… but this was the second time he’d come to their rescue. And he was simply standing there, perfectly harmless and ridiculous with his old, striped suit. After a minute of thought, Delia sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Charles, just let the demon get in the car.”

Beetlejuice grinned widely. “Yeah, Chuck! Let the demon get in the car!” Though he clearly didn’t _want_ Beetlejuice in his Mercedes, Charles gave a tired, world-weary nod as he waved for them to follow. Lydia smiled up a Beetlejuice, happy to see his hair had returned to its normal, vibrant green. He looked down at her, winked, and said, “This’ll be the first time I’ve been in a car since the fucking _forties_.”

Lydia let out a tired laugh. “A lot has changed since then.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice sighed as he sauntered along next to her. “Still the same idea though. Square box, four tires, rumble-rumble under the hood. Same diff.”

“You’re so stupid,” Lydia said with a shake of her head.

“ _You’re_ stupid,” he shot back.

With another soft laugh, Lydia reached out to take Beetlejuice’s hand and hold it. It was cold. His palms were calloused. His skin was rough and dry. He looked a little confused for a moment, his hair flashing that soft yellow… only to settle back to green when he squeezed her hand gently.

“I’m glad you’re back, Beej,” she said after they walked for a bit. They were almost to the car. Beetlejuice hummed thoughtfully, and she squeezed his hand a bit. “Kinda missed you hanging around.”

Beetlejuice shrugged as Charles unlocked the car. “Eh… we’ll see how it goes. I _am_ an ‘Official Guide’ for the Newly Dead.”

“Oh!” Delia said in a sotto voice, “Sounds fancy.”

“Yeah, comes with perks. And a hat,” Beetlejuice nodded to himself before he opened the car door for Lydia. “So… I’ll go for a ride in your Daddy’s fancy car. Then we’ll see what happens.”

“You could hang out for a while,” Lydia offered. Charles gave her a look in the rearview mirror.

“It’s past midnight, Lydia.”

“Still,” Lydia said as Beetlejuice clambered into the backseat next to her. “You should visit more.”

Beetlejuice gave her a strained smile as his hair cycled through a few colors that didn’t last long enough to be identified. After a bit of shifting, it settled on a deep indigo as he mumbled, “Sure, kid. Maybe.”

Again, Charles gave her a sharp look in rearview mirror. “Lydia, I know you’ve missed… Beetlejuice,” he said the name like it was a sour taste on his tongue, “And we appreciate his help this evening. But I’m sure Mr. Juice is a very busy man.”

“Keeping callin’ me that, Chuck,” Beetlejuice grinned as he poked the back of the divers’ seat. “Make me sound like a fancy new drink.”

Lydia sat forward a bit, trying to catch her father’s eye as she said, “But, Dad, he’s not like… _actually_ bad. He’s weird, yeah. But not bad.”

Charles watched the road and hit his turning signal. “I’m trying to focus, Lydia. We’ll talk about this when we’re home.”

“Sweetie,” Delia said softly, “Sit back, please. Buckle your seatbelt.”

“Dad,” she tried again, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “He saved us tonight!”

“We were only _mugged,_ Lydia. Our lives weren’t in danger. Sit back and—”

“They had a gun, Dad!” Lydia whined, “And a knife! They were going to take the keys and we’d be stuck downtown with no—”

“Lydia!” Charles snapped, loud enough to make the air in the car crack with pressure. The car went quiet. Even Beetlejuice was a little rigid where he sat, and his hair was a shock of white. Lydia sat back slowly, and Charles’ hands relaxed on the wheel. “We’ll _talk_ … when we get _home_. Please, let me drive.”

Leaning heavily against the side of the car, Lydia let out a tired huff. She hated it when her father yelled. And from the looks of it, Beetlejuice didn’t like the shouting, either. In fact, she remembered how Juno yelled at him at a few months ago. She remembered the embarrassment on his face… the resigned, tired look… and then, when she threatened Lydia, there was clear, unaltered fear in his eyes. He didn’t like the shouting. Or the threats. Lydia would have to hang onto that thought.

After a solid minute of staring at Beetlejuice, Lydia was surprised to see him look back at her. Their eyes locked. Lydia blinked. And Beetlejuice stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at her. _That_ was the Beetlejuice she knew, and she laughed before kicking his leg with the heel of her shoe. He laughed, too. The air in the car relaxed, if only just a little bit.

Maybe the car ride home wouldn’t be so long, after all.

+++++

Beetlejuice didn’t like modern cars. He didn’t like the leather seats that were squeaky clean, he didn’t like the random screens on the center console, and he didn’t like the seatbelts that held him to the stiff cushions. What he did like, however, was seeing Lydia again. It had been a hot minute since he saw the little ankle-biter… and that was a good thing. If she showed up in the Netherworld even a _minute_ too soon, he’d have been furious.

But there she was, sitting up, living, breathing, and wiping at the eyeliner that had smeared on her cheeks when she’d cried. It was weird to see; he’d never seen Lydia cry. He decided then and there that he didn’t like it. What he did like, however, was that Lydia had called for him. Sure, getting summoned was a pain in the ass… but she had been in danger. Furthermore, Charles and Darla seemed pretty glad that he was there, too.

He sunk in his seat a little bit; of _course_ they were glad he was there. He got their stuff back. Wasn’t that enough? He was used to being accommodated when people wanted something… but hospitality always seemed to run dry when he’d done whatever they wanted. Then he was told in no uncertain terms to _go away_.

Yeah, it was nice to see Lydia again, but it was time to nip this in the bud. He glanced out the window, making a face at Lydia in the reflection. She snorted a laugh, and he smiled. This wasn’t going to last long. Seeing someone who still considered him a friend… and maybe getting a chance to shoot a wink at the Maitlands. It would count as a good night, even if he was unceremoniously yanked out of the Netherworld to experience it.

When the car pulled up to the house, Beetlejuice smiled up at the same, tired structure. It was still a little worn, still a little behind the times… just as he remembered. He remembered months of watching the Maitlands before they died. He remembered teaching – or attempting to teach – the couple about scaring. He remembered Lydia on that roof, ready to just… end it all. And what would they have missed if she’d done that?

“Beej?” Lydia said as she poked her head into the car to give him a weird look. “You coming?”

Shrugging tiredly, Beetlejuice climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. “Can’t believe I missed this place. Didn’t think I was coming back, anyway.”

Lydia bumped shoulders with him as they walked up the sidewalk. “Well, you said you were bored of us or some crap. Didn’t you say you were going on a trip to find your dad or something?”

Beetlejuice grimaced, watching Charles unlock and open the front door stiffly. Without giving an answer, Beetlejuice walked through the front door and loudly said, “ _Honey!_ I’m _home!”_

The interior of the house was silent. The Deetz’s turned to give him a half-interested look, and something in Beetlejuice’s stomach went a bit sour. Not that he’d eaten anything recently… aside from that half-rotten block of cheese twelve years ago. It seemed unlikely that it would be attempting to resurface after so long. No, this was a deep-seated worry. If the house was so quiet… did that mean the Maitlands had moved on? Had they gone to the Netherworld and slipped past the catalogue desk without his knowledge?

Before he could open his mouth and ask, he turned to see Barbara and Adam leaning over the guardrail of the stairs, looking down at him with mouths agape and expressions completely adorable. Barbara put a hand to her lips like a distraught Victorian heroine.

“Beetlejuice…?” She whispered, looking at Charles and Delia for an explanation. None came, and she sputtered, “How… how…?”

With a flourish of his hand, Beetlejuice produced an old, tattered hat and held it to his heart. “I came back for you, Hot-lips. Tell me you’ll leave Adam and run off with me.” Barbara blinked a few times, laughed a little, and Beetlejuice held up his hand. “On second thought, scratch that. Let’s all run off. We’ll be the hottest ghost trio on Earth.”

Adam was half-hiding behind his wife as he said, “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Beetlejuice. I think we’ll pass.” He leaned over the railing to ask Charles, “Why is he here?”

“We got mugged,” Lydia said as she took her father’s coat from her shoulder and handed it to him. “Beetlejuice saved us.”

At the mention of his name, Beetlejuice felt a tug under his ribcage. When a living person said it, it almost felt like a hook had been tucked under the curve of his ribs and was pulling incessantly. He almost said something, but Charles spoke first.

Charles folded the jacket over his arm with a stiff expression. “We _almost_ got mugged.”

“Because Beetlejuice was there,” Delia said knowingly as she undid the ankle-strap of her heels. “He did, in fact, save us. We could’ve really been hurt.”

Beetlejuice twitched at the sound of his name again. It was nice, but he was already _there_. There was no need to keep saying his name, was there? He frowned; if they didn’t call him Beetlejuice, what would they call him? Lawrence? He felt a little sick at that option; no. No, that’s what Mom called him, and he hated it.

Rocking on his heels, Beetlejuice threw the hat over his shoulder and grumbled, “Ya know, it’s kinda weird to have a bunch of breathers saying my name.”

Lydia gave him a snarky look. “Isn’t that what you wanted so bad from me when we first met?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but that was only because no one could see me otherwise. You know how boring it is to stand naked in Grand Central Station with _no one_ noticing?” He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Heartbreaking, Lyds. It breaks my cold, un-beating heart.”

While the Maitlands slowly descended the stairs, Charles sat down on the sofa and rubbed the back of his neck. Delia sat with him, a soft hand on his knee as he huffed and puffed with all that big-man intimidation he always had. Lydia stayed with Beetlejuice, though, rocking on her heels and poking at his side until he reached out to ruffle her hair so hard, she stumbled back and laughed.

“Did you—” Barbara started, broke off, then tried again. “Beetlejuice, did you _really_ save them?”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Adam asked, genuinely intrigued.

He looked at them, and Barbara looked… well, she looked soft. She seemed gentle where she stood against Adam’s chest, all pale, pink lips and worried eyes. And Adam stood with her, his eyes intent and mouth set in a firm line. How _dare_ they both look so kissable. It was almost unbearable.

With a shrug, Beetlejuice said, “Yeah. ‘course. Why the fuck wouldn’t I?” He leaned his arm on top of Lydia’s head, dramatically inspecting his nails as he said, “Gotta look out for my BFFFF.”

“Mr. Juice,” Charles said darkly, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow, and Charles was waiting for him with a stern expression. “As I’ve said, we appreciate your help this evening, but—”

“I think I’m gonna bounce,” Beetlejuice said, effectively cutting him off. Charles blinked hard, clearly surprised that he was willing to leave on his own. Lydia, however, seemed irritated by the statement.

“What? Dude, you _just_ got here.”

Beetlejuice laughed and gave her a playful nudge. “Yeah, but I’ve got shit to do. Can’t just hang around for no reason.” That was a lie. He just didn’t want to listen to _another_ person saying they didn’t want him around. It would be easier to just leave of his own volition. Or so he told himself. Looking to the Maitlands that were adorably huddled together at the base of the stairs, Beetlejuice gave them a long, appreciative onceover and a wink. “I think I’ll miss you two the most.”

Adam tucked himself behind Barbara a little more, but Barbara smiled a little. “I… honestly, sometimes… the things you say.”

Lydia jumped in again, her eyeliner-streaked cheeks looking pleasantly horrific as she punched his arm. “Hey. Look, you… you’re weird. And you _get_ me. And you’re just _leaving_? After like, five minutes?”

Spreading his hands, Beetlejuice let out a chuckle. “Whaddya want me to do, kid? You summoned me, I did what you wanted, now I’ve got to report back. I _do_ have an actual job to do.”

“Thank you again, by the way,” Delia said, giving Charles a noticeable nudge. He didn’t move, and Delia said, “This is a _very_ welcome change from the last time we met.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Beetlejuice grumbled with a wiggle of his fingers, “Don’t go spreading this around. I have a reputation.” When he looked to Lydia and saw a slight pout on her lips, he rolled his eyes and gave her another pat on the head. That’s what kids liked, right? Those little taps on the head? To tell them they were good? Like a dog. Like a dog, but with less biting and more emotional trauma. “Seriously, I’m hitting the road, kid. Don’t miss me too bad. Don’t doodle my name in your notebooks. Don’t pull petals off flowers with that ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ bullshit.”

Lydia snorted. “Gross.”

“Yeah, the child-bride thing was weird the first time,” He said with a frown. “Now it’s just sad.”

Without waiting, Beetlejuice took a pen from the coffee table and sauntered over to the nearest wall. The fireplace was cold and empty, though it seemed the perfect night for a fire. With a flourish of his hand, a fire started – accompanied by Adam’s startled yelp. Beetlejuice grinned as he drew himself a nice doorway on the wall and knocked three times.

When Beetlejuice looked back at Lydia, there was a strange sort of calm that settled over her expression. Almost like she wasn’t concerned with his leaving. In fact, she looked relaxed where she stood with her father and step-mother, shaken but not stirred in the events of the evening. That didn’t matter so much to Beetlejuice; he was just glad to see that she was in one piece. He was also happy to know that the muggers were _not_ going to stay in one piece. It was all in the details… and the Deetz didn’t need to know those details. That was his business, and it was business he could mess with back in the Netherworld.

Dusting off his jacket – this action was purely for show since the dirt was so caked into the fabric it would take much more to get _anything_ off it – Beetlejuice gave Lydia a two-fingered salute. “Well. This is my stop. See ya, nerd.”

Lydia saluted back. “Later, weirdo.”

With a nod to himself, Beetlejuice sent Adam and Barbara a wink before he sauntered through the door of green, smoky light. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be caught having spent extra time on the surface. He didn’t have a chance to make up a story for why he was going back up to the human world… not like when he went to see Adam and Barbara before they died. No, this was different. He had to be smart about this. He had to—

He flew back through the doorway without so much as a warning, hitting the floor and rolling a bit before he landed, sprawled out on the hardwood floors on his back. He heard Delia gasp and Charles tell Lydia to “get back!” as Beetlejuice stared up at the ceiling in vague confusion. His hair was still smoking that familiar, green smoke… but he was in the land of the living. He frowned.

“What the funky-fresh fuck?” Beetlejuice sat up and looked at the door he’d created. It was still there. Still open and waiting for him. Off to the side, Lydia was giving him a strange look.

“You know, Beej… when people say ‘bye,’ it normally means they’re leaving.”

He pointed an angry finger at her and grumbled, “Shut your tiny mouth. I can leave if I want.”

With that same, smug smile, she gestured to the door. “Go for it.”

“Okay. I will!” Beetlejuice stood, straightened his jacket, and marched toward the door.

This time, he felt something slam into him. Almost like a blessing from a priest, but with considerably less holy-fire and screaming nuns. It hit him like a brick wall, barreling into him and sending him rolling back through the doorway and into the house. He hit the ground harder this time, his fingers clawing at the wood as he fought to come to a stop. The coffee table rattled as he hit it and flailed, and Lydia was considerably confused as she came to stand over him.

“Hey, uh… if this is a joke, I don’t really get it.” She looked down at him, and he felt his scalp tingle. Maybe his hair was changing color. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice. Even so, she made a face and said, “Is it a ghost thing? Because, seriously… playing mime with the doorway isn’t exactly amazing comedy.”

“Is… is he okay?” Barbara asked, already stepping forward with Adam in an attempt to help.

That only irritated Beetlejuice. He didn’t need _help_. This was the most _basic_ form of transportation back to the Netherworld. He waved them off, more than a little pissed off as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Growling to himself a bit, Beetlejuice stood and stomped his feet a bit. What the _hell_ was going on with the damn door system? He was _always_ let back in, even when he wasn’t guiding anyone. He was dead, so… why wasn’t it working?

Psyching himself up, Beetlejuice bounced on his heels and said, “Maybe I need a running start…”

Lydia sounded uncomfortable. “This… this isn’t a joke?”

Without an answer, Beetlejuice ran at the door. It was making him _look bad_ , dammit. And he wasn’t bad. He was _evil_ , and the doorway needed to respect that. Rushing at it with everything he had took some energy, considering he wasn’t much of a runner – who were runners? Crazy people, that’s who. Breathers with too much time on their hands – and wasn’t surprised when something grated across every atom in his body.

It was almost like being a little, tiny ant on the pavement in summer. The kind that young children follow with magnifying glasses, burning them with sunlight until they were itty-bitty smoking husks. That’s what it felt like. That kind of narrow, hot precision that tore into him and made him howl as he was thrown haphazardly back through the door.

Only a Mother’s Love could hurt that bad.

When he hit the ground, he didn’t bother to sit back up. He simply laid with his face pressed to the floor and body quivering with aftershocks. Had he been electrocuted? Maybe. He felt the sparks of it as he shuddered and pushed himself up, only to tremble with effort. This was _ridiculous_. He was _Beetlejuice_ , dammit. One of the oldest, greatest haunters in the northern hemisphere. Guide to no less than 50 million ghosts over the last five centuries. Son of Juno and… well, Juno and _somebody_. He wasn’t supposed to get slapped around by Netherworld doorways. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck here.

And _yet_ …

“Beetlejuice? Beetlejuice, can you hear us?” Adam asked, a steady hand on his shoulder. Beetlejuice turned his head to look at him, seeing anxiety flicker through Adam’s brown eyes. How was he so nice? How was he so damn _fucking_ considerate? The Maitlands weren’t just soft… they were squishy. All gentle hands and open arms. It was intoxicating, the air around them. The kind that made Beetlejuice feel all stupid and wanton and… _longing_. Adam pat his shoulder and Beetlejuice huffed. “Do you need a hand?”

“Nah,” Beetlejuice groaned as he reached into his pocket and produced a severed hand. He gave it to Adam. “I’ve got a few extra hands already.”

Adam skittered back, fumbling the hand until he could toss it into the fireplace. That was better. More room to breathe – figuratively. He didn’t exactly need people seeing him like this… down and out and unable to go back to the Netherworld. Oh, Miss Argentina – “Call me Maria, Beetlejuice, we’ve _talked_ about this” – would be furious with him. He probably had people to guide. Probably had some papers to spit on. Probably had _work_ to do… and there he was, shuddering on the old, creaky floors of the Deetz household.

Without asking, Charles stepped forward and hooked an arm under Beetlejuice’s and hefted him up, off of the floor. Beetlejuice stumbled a bit, surprised by the assistance as he was set back on his feet. Lydia was staring at him, that same vague, confused look in her eye as he shrugged off the last of the discomfort.

“Hey,” she said, gesturing to him loosely. “What’s up with your hair?”

Beetlejuice made a pinched face and ran a self-conscious hand through his dirty hair. “What’s up with _your_ hair?”

She rolled her eyes and plopped herself down on the sofa. “Just wondering what all the colors were about, Beej. No need to be bitchy.”

“Language, please,” Charles said sternly. Lydia pointedly didn’t look at him. Charles scrubbed a hand over his face. “Good god, it’s late…”

Delia clasped her hands and looked at the wall next to the flickering fireplace. “Well. We’re all tired… and Beetlejuice can’t seem to go back to…” she waved her hand needlessly. “Back _there_ , so…”

Beetlejuice shrugged and adjusted his coat a little. They already wanted him out. He _knew_ this was coming. It always came. He had outlived his usefulness… now it was time to kick him out. Delia, however, had other plans as she reached out to touch Charles’ wrist.

“Charles… I think it would be a spiritually healing idea to let Beetlejuice stay with us. At least for the night.” Charles gave her a baffled look, and Delia explained. “Last time he was here, he had a very… different energy. Things have changed. He needs a place to stay. He’s helped us more than once.” She gave him a soft smile. “It’s time to mend fences.”

“He _tried_ ,” Charles emphasized, “To _kill_ us. Not to mention the fact that he _married_ Lydia!”

“For like… three minutes,” Lydia said as she kicked her feet. This statement was followed-up with a yawn, and the yawn spread like wildfire to all the breathers in the room. She rubbed her eyes and mumbled, “He just wanted to be alive.”

“Yeah, and that was _exhausting,”_ Beetlejuice groaned. “I _seriously_ don’t know how you guys do that all fucking day, every day, for your whole lives. Even if they’re short!” He paused, then said, “Wait. Having emotions makes things _real_ crazy. Wonder how that works with sex.”

While Lydia made a face, Delia said, “It’s visceral.”

Charles baulked and turned an interesting shade of red. “ _Delia._ ”

“What? I didn’t say I was talking about you!” Delia hissed back.

Beetlejuice gave a long, low whistle. “Damn, Chuckles. Guess that speaks to your talents.”

Charles sputtered and started to pace angrily. “This isn’t—I’m not having this—it’s one in the morning, I’m not going to stand in my living room discussing _private_ information on my love-life in front of my _daughter._ ”

“Yeah, don’t. Please don’t.” Lydia kicked her feet a bit more, her tired eyelids drooping as she sighed a little. “So Beej can stay the night, right? I mean. We _have_ a guest room.”

By the fireplace, Adam and Barbara looked at each other oddly. “Guest room?” Adam murmured to her, a little confused. They thought for a moment, and Beetlejuice saw a look of sad understanding flicker through their eyes. “The… oh, the room… we saved… for the baby.”

Beetlejuice twitched and looked away. “O- _kay_ , I can _totally_ tell that Chuckles isn’t on board with me kickin’ it up in this place.” He pulled back his sleeve to check a watch that wasn’t there. “And I’m sure I’ll get another alert about my next Guide gig soon. I can wander around town ‘till then. Scare the drunks, tease the elderly, kick the mean goose in the park… you know. The usual.”

Delia placed a hand over her heard. “It’s too cold to wander around outside. You’ll catch your—”

“What. Say it.” Beetlejuice grinned. “I’ll catch my… what, Debra?”

“Shut up, Beej,” Lydia yawned. “It’s not a funny joke.”

“Death is _always_ funny when I’m the punchline,” he reasoned with a couple of finger-guns for emphasis. “I mean. My mom always treats me like a joke, so…”

Lydia made a face at that… but didn’t respond. He frowned. Was he losing his edge? Normally people laughed when he told them shit about his mom. They thought it was funny. That’s what his childhood was. Super, super funny. Nothing but laughs… just not for him.

Still pacing, Charles scratched his beard tiredly. “If he’s going to stay—” Lydia lit up and he held up an authoritative hand. “I said _if_ he’s going to stay… we’ll need to set some ground rules.”

Beetlejuice gave him a baffled look. “Wha—are you shitting me? _Rules_?”

“Of course,” Charles said, his hands clasped behind his back as he continued to pace. “If you’re going to be here, under my roof, you’ll follow the House Rules.”

“If I don’t want to?”

Charles adjusted his cufflinks. “Then I’ll call a _real_ exorcist.”

Rolling his eyes, Beetlejuice popped his hip and crossed his arms over his chest. When Charles didn’t seem bothered, he took out another arm and crossed that one over his chest, too. Just for the extra emphasis. _That_ caught Charles’ attention and he stopped to give Beetlejuice an uncomfortable look. “House Rules. Really, Chuck? Rules are made by ‘big guys’ with ‘little guys’ in their pants… and they don’t have to follow those fucking rules. I’m not sticking around for that crap.”

“What?” Lydia squeaked, sitting forward with a surprising amount of energy for a breather that had been drooping like a flower that needed watering. She looked to Charles desperately. “ _Dad_.”

Pouting a little, Beetlejuice stuck out his lower lip and pitched his voice high to repeat, “ _Dad_.”

Charles held up a hand. “Stop that. The House Rules will be followed,” he said sternly, “By _everyone_. Including myself.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

While he took out a pad of paper and sat next to Delia on the sofa, he clicked a pen restlessly as he said, “We will all sign it. All members of the household.”

Delia smiled and clapped her hands. “Oh, such a _businessman_.”

“A businessman at one in the morning,” Lydia mumbled. Beetlejuice smiled at that, giving her a wink as she put her feet up on the loveseat and curled into a little ball. “We all just have to sign it? And Beej can stay?”

“As long as he agrees to these terms and rules,” Charles said firmly as he started a numbered list. “Yes. He can stay.”

Something weird and fluttery bloomed in Beetlejuice’s chest. A little like that time he tried arsenic, just to see what all the fuss was about. He’d put it in a pipe and smoked it for a while… it had been fluttery, like this. But this was a little less painful. The Maitlands were creeping forward, peeking over the back of the couch to catch a glimpse of the paper. Adam in particular seemed excited about these new “rules.”

“Do… do we sign, too?” He asked, a little jittery about it. Beetlejuice made a face; how come a set of rules could get him all cute and bothered? He was so boring, rules sounded like _fun_ to him. It was sad… and also very adorable. Irritably so. Adam and Barbara held hands as they crouched next to the coffee table and watched the paper. “I mean… we _are_ technically in the house, too.”

"Of _course_ ,” Delia said before Charles could wave them off. She smiled at them, all sunshine and rainbows as she said, “Everyone in the house signs.”

Beetlejuice wrung his hands a bit, more than a little restless having to stand still for so long. “What if I don’t like the rules?”

“Amendments can be made,” Charles said, already writing down one rule. Delia immediately began nodding, and so did the Maitlands. Charles went to the next rule. “But compromises can be drawn. These rules will cover the bare minimum, seeing as you’re only staying the night… if need be, I’m certain we can make changes.”

“Oh, Charles.” Delia poked the paper and said, “We should probably say something about… loud noises. At night.”

Charles nodded sternly. “No unholy screeching past eleven o’clock.”

“Hey,” Lydia said tiredly. “What if I’m up watching a horror movie?”

Charles hesitated, then scribbled, “ _Midnight_.” Lydia nodded in approval and leaned her head against the arm of the loveseat again, apparently happy to doze until the rules were finished.

Shuffling toward her seat, Beetlejuice picked up her legs and pushed them onto the floor so he could sit next to her. She cursed at him, glared, and then put her feet up on his legs while Charles continued to write. The Maitlands nodded and murmured. Delia gave small hums of approval. And Beetlejuice sat off to the side, more than a little confused.

They were actually _agreeing_ to let him stay. They were drawing up rules and limitations… not a formal Demon Contract, but rules that they, themselves, were agreeing to follow. He could lean forward and point out what rules he didn’t like… but he wasn’t a fast reader. And Charles’ pen was _flying_ across the little blue notepad lines. He’d wait until they reached a stopping point. Maybe then he could come to terms with the idea of these people actually _wanting_ him to stick around.

He frowned a little; no, they didn’t really _want_ him. At best, they were tolerating him. He’d been desperate for companionship before, eager for someone – _anyone –_ to see him. He liked the screams because it meant they _saw_ him. He liked scaring because he felt _acknowledged_. And now, even without the scaring or screaming… he was there. Seen. Known. And being pulled into some contractual house rules. If not for his crippling sense of self-loathing, he might have actually been _happy_ at this development. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Not yet. Not until he was absolutely, 100 percent sure they actually wanted him there.

“Mr. Juice,” Charles said in that stiff formal voice. That was _never_ going to get old. The list was slid across the table. “Do these rules seem acceptable to you?”

Leaning forward, Beetlejuice picked up the paper and brought it close.

  1. _No abuse, threats, or murder in the Deetz household_



_EDIT: unless there is a break-in and measures must be taken keep the inhabitants safe_

  1. _No inappropriate or sexual advances in the Deetz household unless both parties are mutually consenting_
  2. _No drugs on the premises_
  3. _No loud noises after midnight._
  4. _No person in the Deetz household will be touched without knowing consent. Boundaries must be respected._



Beetlejuice licked his lips… it took him a few minutes to actually read and process the rules. They all seemed pointed toward him… but if they were _all_ going to agree to the rules, he could overlook it. He got to stick around that way. That meant hanging out with Lydia (and getting to wink at the Maitlands… no touching, as per the rules). So maybe it wasn’t so terrible.

Lydia leaned over to read the list… and nodded tiredly. “Seems fair.”

“Yeah… well, I guess.” Beetlejuice shrugged. “Not much of a ‘rules’ guy. Unless it’s like… a safeword.”

Lydia leaned back and laid her head on the armrest again. “Gross.”

Across the table, Charles suppressed a yawn with back of his hand before saying, “No concerns? Can we sign and agree to call it a night?”

Hesitating, Beetlejuice shoved Lydia’s legs off his thighs – earning an indignant “ _Hey!”_ in response – before holding out a hand for the pen. Charles paused for a moment, unsure, before handing over the pen. Beetlejuice took it, leaning over the paper with intense concentration as he struggled to remember how to spell his name. He hadn’t written in a long, long time... paperwork for Newly Deads was normally filed by Miss “call me Maria” Argentina, and he didn’t have to do anything but put his thumbprint where his name had to go. It was all a formality. Now, though, he was fighting to keep his messy handwriting in the lines as he wrote the only rule he could think to request.

  1. _Dont call Betelgeuses name 3 times unless emergancee_



He slid the paper back across the table. Charles and Delia looked at it… and nodded. The Maitlands seemed pleased by this addition. With that, Charles went on to sign his name at the bottom of the paper, leaving plenty of room for additional rules if the need arose. Then, he passed the pen to Delia.

While Delia signed the House Rules, Barbara leaned over and said, “Is that how you really spell your name?”

“What? Yeah. I mean… yeah.” Beetlejuice shrugged. “It’s old.”

“It’s the star,” Adam said after a moment with a nod to Barbara. “We saw it in that little class we took on astrology, remember?”

“Oh, I _do_!” Barbara said fondly, her hands all fluttery as she said, “I’m pretty sure the teacher pronounced it differently. Bet-el-goose or something.”

Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose. “That’s stupid. Say it normally.”

The Maitlands gave each other knowing – and loving – looks as they signed the list of rules. Then, Lydia begrudgingly clambered off the chair and messily scribbled her name at the bottom.

“There,” she huffed. “Are we done? Can we sleep?”

Beetlejuice smirked as he reached out to sign his name at the bottom. He saw Charles’ neat scrawl, Delia’s looping script, and Adam and Barbara’s complimentary, small signatures. Lydia’s was messy… but in an artistic way. He frowned and scratched his name as neat as he could. It still looked like garbage, but it was _his_ garbage, and that’s what mattered.

Once Beetlejuice set down the pen, Charles let out a world-weary sigh. “ _Yes_. Now we can all go to sleep.” He left the paper on the table, like it needed to be out on display at all times before he headed for the stairs. “Delia, the bed in the guest room is made, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Delia sighed as she pulled the pins from her hair and let down a flood of long, red hair. She scratched her fingers through it a little as she glanced back at Beetlejuice. “Do you need anything to sleep in? You’ve only had that suit and it’s…” she paused. “Very well-worn.”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow. “That’s a nice way of saying nasty.”

Lydia huffed a laugh as she started to climb the stairs to her bedroom. “Hey, at least you don’t wreak anymore. What’s up with that?”

Running a hand down his chest, Beetlejuice tossed his hair dramatically and said, “I’m trying a new thing called ‘essence of dead librarian.’ It’s _way_ popular with Charles Dickens.”

Adam gave him a semi-interested look. “Charles Dickens wears perfume?”

Placing a heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder, Beetlejuice sighed, “That is like… the _least_ shocking thing I can tell you about Dickens.”

Adam froze under his touch before quietly saying, “Ah, uh… rule five, please.”

Beetlejuice blinked, leaned over to re-read the list, and withdrew his hand with a quiet, “Oh,” as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought… that just meant the no-no bits, so I didn’t think—”

“It’s alright,” Adam said after a moment. “Just… a little jumpy is all. A little warning? Next time?”

“Beetlejuice,” Delia said again, this time from the top of the stairs. Beetlejuice gave her an exasperated look, and she gestured to the second-floor hall. “The guest room is at the end of the hall. Do you need a change of clothes for bed?”

“Uh,” Beetlejuice felt something tug in the back of his mind. Someone nearby had died. It was close. No other Guides had responded. He couldn’t just leave the Newly Dead to wander around. That meant more work down the line. Plus, Sandworms weren’t always fun to play with. “Put a pin in that, Debbie. I’ve gotta do a quick guide.”

Lydia leaned over the banister with a sleepy expression. “You’ll come back, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. I’ll come back. Don’t get all mushy on me.”

“I’ll be asleep before you get back,” she said tiredly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Go to sleep, you little breather. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He snapped his fingers and the world around him warped and twisted. When his feet landed on solid ground, he was on the pavement. Car accident, it would seem. Drunk driver. The guy had a pretty stupid look on his face as he stared at the wreckage of his totaled car. Beetlejuice sniffed… and pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. There, he drew a nice little door on the asphalt just behind the Newly Dead. He was careful to knock quietly. It opened, and Beetlejuice grinned.

Stepping forward, he slapped the Newly Dead idiot on the back and said, “Good news, buddy! Not only are you _not_ gonna risk anyone’s life with your shitty driving ever again,” Beetlejuice pulled out a tote bag that involved all the normal goodies – a little Toblerone, a bath bomb, the handbook, blah blah blah – and held it up for display. “But you _also_ get a free tote bag!”

The man screamed, didn’t even take the tote bag, and fell backwards through the door. Beetlejuice smiled as he plummeted down, screeching like a wild animal as he went. Just for fun, he dropped the tote bag through the doorway. That would be a fun slap in the face once the guy landed.

After the scream faded and sirens started to wail in the distance, Beetlejuice pursed his lips. He _did_ just perform a nifty little guide. Even if it was a little shorter than his normal job and explanation, it was still _his_ guide job. Those were normally followed up with the paperwork thumbprint with Miss “Maria” Argentina. That meant he was let in… normally. But this was weird. This was a blockage of the doorway system that was most likely caused by his mother. He couldn’t think of anyone else that had the authority. But… if he was doing his job… wouldn’t that be an exception?

Testing the waters, he lifted one foot and tried to step through the door in the ground… and his foot bounced back like he’d stepped on a trampoline. He growled and tried to stomp on the doorway, only to have his leg bounce up and knee himself in the face. That was fun. It made him see spots for a few seconds as he stumbled around, a hand held to his broken nose. With a solid _crack,_ he righted his nose and waved at the doorway. It shut quietly, like it had no beef with him… but it did. Oh, it sure as hell _did_.

Heaving a sigh, Beetlejuice didn’t wait for the first-responders to show up. No matter what they did, the Newly Dead was dead for good. Plus, he’d already gone through the door. Too late to change that. So he snapped his fingers and reappeared in the Deetz house. The first floor was quiet… dark and perfect for creeping in the shadows. But there was no one to scare right now. They were all asleep.

Though, really, the best kind of scares were the ones that tore people from sleep with bloody, horrified screams that made him feel _unignorable_. But the rules said: “no loud noises after blah blah o’clock.” That meant he had to do his least favorite thing: be quiet. It was so much nicer when he could talk to people… and have them talk back. He could go bother the Maitlands… but they were so bland and cutesy, they probably went to sleep at night like the vanilla-flavored ghosts that they were. So he’d have to wait until morning.

He climbed the stairs slowly, enjoying the creak of the stairs on each step before shuffling down the hall until he saw one door that had been left open. The guest room, he supposed. He stepped inside and looked around at beige wallpaper and soft polka dot blankets and white pillows…it was exceptionally boring. And since he was staying there for a while, there was no reason _not_ to spice it up. With a flick of his wrist, the blankets lost their spots and earned some stripes. The wallpaper darkened to a much more palatable, muted gray. That was much better.

The only thing he didn’t change, however, was what had been laid out on the bed for him. An old, college sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants. A sticky note sat on top of them.

_Charles doesn’t wear these anymore. You can use them for pajamas!_ – _Delia_

Shrugging out of his suitcoat – it felt weird to take it off after wearing it for so long – Beetlejuice chucked it on the floor and kicked off his shoes. It had been a while since the last time he slept. But the only other way to spend the evening would be snorting some coke and he wasn’t in the mood… he had to be in the right kind of “bored” mindset for coke. So, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled that off, too. There was still some dirt and grime on him… when was the last time he bathed? He frowned. That took effort. Effort he didn’t want to deal with.

Instead, he just pulled the sweatshirt over his head and put his arms through the sleeves. It was… warm. And _soft_. He forgot how nice new clothes could feel. He’d been so proud of the striped suit he made back in the 20’s, he’d missed out on the wonder of hooded-sweatshirts. Feeling the soft fabric a little, he paused. _What if_ … he wondered. _What if_ …

With a quick gesture, his skin was clear of dirt and grime. Showers took too long. Baths took too much effort. This way, several layers of dirt and sweat were gone and he felt… _lighter_. And cushioned by soft, soft fabric that was finally touching _skin_ rather than the layer of dirt over it.

Now that he was “clean” – his hair and scruffy face were another story, not to mention his fingernails – he kicked off his suit pants and pulled on the flannel pajama pants. They were _warm_ , despite his cold body. It was so _weird_ … but it was so _nice_. Why hadn’t he thought to steal new clothes before? Was he simply too lazy or had he just forgotten to try new clothes for 90 years? Probably both.

More than interested to see how beds had improved in the past century, Beetlejuice threw back the blankets and burrowed into the softness of the mattress like a nesting animal. The blankets were pulled up to his chin and his wild hair fanned out across the pillow. With a grin, the lights turned themselves off, leaving Beetlejuice comfortably in the dark.

Oh, yeah. This was nice. An actual roof over his head, new clothes that didn’t get peeled off a dead guy, and blankets with no holes or bugs. This was _very_ nice. And if that meant sticking around and following a few rules? Maybe it was worth the effort.


	2. Amendments I

“He’s a _demon_ , Delia,” Charles said, his voice reverberating through the wooden ceiling and rumbling around the guest room. Beetlejuice stared at the ceiling, picking at his fingernails as he listened-in. They’d been working on their “list of rules” amendments since the moment Chares woke up, and, without any surprise, they went to the Maitlands to help hammer out the finer details. “Shouldn’t we have something about… sacrifice? Devil-worship?”

“That is _extremely_ conditional, Charles,” Delia said, her feet tapping on the wooden floor restlessly. “I’ve never seen him dealing with any kind of sacrifice. Do you really thing he _would_?”

Again, Charles said, “He’s a demon. Don’t demons make contracts with people?”

Surprisingly, Adam’s voice piped up. “He… well, he asked us to _hire_ him. To teach us to scare.”

“That’s true!” Barbara added. “There wasn’t a contract or anything. We just… asked for his help.”

“That aside,” Delia said thinly, “Didn’t we say that _everyone_ in the house would follow these rules? It doesn’t seem fair to single him out because he’s…” there was a pause, “Whatever he is.”

Beetlejuice grinned; they were all such squares. They had no idea what kind of tricky contracts a good demon could conjure up… but he wasn’t that kind of showy. Deals were boring and made more work for him. He was comfortable with being a Guide as long as people saw him and screamed at his presence.

A little bored of eavesdropping, Beetlejuice pushed himself out of the soft guest bed and kicked the blankets onto the floor. The sweatshirt was still soft and warm, and he tucked his hands into the front pocket as he shuffled down the hallway. Charles and Delia’s bedroom door was open, showing their neatly made bed and over-decorated walls. He turned to the left and saw Lydia’s bedroom; Lydia was still curled up in a mess of black blankets, happily sleeping while the adults of the household debated the House Rules.

Once he’d climbed the stairs, he walked into the attic without warning, giving the occupants a reason to pause and look at him. Spreading his hands wide, he produced a bottle of cheap wine from his sleeve and said, “Thought I’d join the party. You guys seem boring enough not to remember the drinks.”

Charles wrinkled his nose. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“That’s quitter talk, Charles,” Beetlejuice said as he unscrewed the cap and flicked it across the room. It hit the wall with a sad _clink_ , and the Maitlands only looked amused by this development. He twitched; that’s right. They couldn’t eat anything anymore. That was a bummer. No drunken, giggly nights with them, then. Pivoting a little, he saw a chalkboard hanging on the wall, each of the House Rules written in clean, white chalk. He tipped the bad wine back and took a drink. It was dry and scratched down his throat as he wheezed, “So. Trying to make more rules?”

Adam jumped up and gestured to the board with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm. He was like a great big puppy, proud to show off his latest and greatest squeaky toy. “This was actually the board we used to put _all_ of our lists on!”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice nodded.

“Like the things we wanted to fix in the house,” Barbara smiled a little as she ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. “Before we… well, before we had a—”

“I know, Babs,” Beetlejuice said as he took another swig of dry wine. “I was there. I watched you guys add all sorts of dumb shit to that board. Now we’re using it for rules?”

“We’re trying to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.” Delia paused, gave him a long look, and nodded in approval. “Those look better than the suit.” Beetlejuice gave her a hard look, and she said, “The _red_ one, I mean. The one you wore for the… ‘wedding,’ thing.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Beetlejuice looked down at the faded lettering on the black hoodie… and shrugged. “Red isn’t exactly my color. I’m liking the black.” Tired of the wine, Beetlejuice threw the bottle out the window, not bothering to care if it disappeared from the material plane before it shattered. Kicking his feet a little, he looked at the chalkboard that still held their six rules. Nothing had been added in their twenty minutes of debate. “Surprised you guys didn’t add a shit-ton of stuff while I wasn’t looking.”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Adam said, his face scrunched up in that cute, confused manner as he adjusted his reading glasses. “It’s a written agreement. We all have to agree to the terms.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “I bet you were a _blast_ when you were in school.”

“He was smart,” Barbara said, quick to hop to his defense where she sat on the old, worn sofa. The one that the Deetz’s had agreed to put there for them, just so they had their own space. Adam came to sit with her, and Beetlejuice tried his damnedest not to be jealous. She made that scrunched-up, cute smile at him as she pat Adam’s shoulder and said, “My little President of the Chess Club!”

Adam giggled and put a hand on her thigh as he said, “Oh yeah, Miss Poetry Club?”

Beetlejuice groaned. “Oh my _god_ , how can two people _so sexy_ be _so boring?”_

“Mr. Juice,” Charles said, eliciting a giggle from Barbara. “The rules we wrote last night cover the bare minimum. But there are specific limits and rules that will need to be followed in this house by _all_ inhabitants.”

Beetlejuice squirmed and scratched the scruff of a beard on his cheeks. “You’re puttin’ me in a tight spot, Chuck. Not that I don’t like tight. Tight is nice in all cases except pants. Just… not a big fan of ‘rules.’”

“Well,” Charles said as he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin. “If you can’t agree to or follow these rules, I think we’ll have to call an exorcist.”

Bristling a little bit, Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes. “That supposed to be a threat, Charles? Because I’m not your average ghost.”

“No. No, you’re obviously not,” Delia said, her hands calmly clasped in her lap as she gave Beetlejuice a look. After staring for a moment, she said, “The last time your hair was red, you were a second away from stabbing Charles.”

Beetlejuice twitched and held a hand to his hair. Had it changed colors again? His mom always yelled at him about that. _Why can’t you control your hair? Why are you such a screw-up? Stop crying with that stupid, blue hair!_ Trying to forcefully scrub the thoughts away, Beetlejuice clawed at his scalp and tried to will the color back to its normal green.

Without saying a thing, Delia stood up and took the chalk from Charles. Then, she went to the chalkboard and added a new rule.

  1. _When troubled, speak with someone in the household and don’t keep it to yourself._



“I think we’ve had enough miscommunication in this house,” Delia said, “As my Guru Otho always says—” she paused, then shook her head. “You know what? _I’m_ saying this: everyone in this house needs to be honest.” She looked at Charles. “ _Everyone_.”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips and said, “Fine. I don’t like rope bondage. Not my scene.”

Delia gave him a sharp look. “I appreciate the honesty, but I meant about things that are _bothering_ us. Lydia was so upset… and when she said she ‘wished she was dead,’ we didn’t know she was actually headed to the roof to make it a reality.”

Charles visibly recoiled from the statement, “Delia, I don’t want to—”

“I _know_ you don’t want to talk about it,” Delia said, a hand over her heart as she said, “But this is what I do. I know when people need a little help getting over something.” With a pointed look, she turned to Beetlejuice. “And I think that includes you, Beetlejuice.”

More than a little bothered by his name being said by a breather this early in the morning, Beetlejuice huffed and said, “Just… call me Beej. Feels like acid reflux when you say my name out of nowhere.”

Delia didn’t seem irritated by that and said, “Okay… what was it your mother called you? Lawrence? We can use that.”

Beetlejuice started at that, distinctly feeling a sickening feeling bloom in his stomach. It resembled the time he swallowed lamp oil just to see what it would taste like. And when the feeling wouldn’t go away, he tried swallowing a lit match in an attempt to burn the oil. It didn’t work… but the sickening feeling stayed, just like the high and slick feeling in his stomach as he stood in the attic of the Deetz’s house.

He didn’t like the feeling that settled in him at the sound of ‘Lawrence.’ Only Juno called him that. Only Juno, and only when she was trying to butter him up before she knocked him down. It was one of her tactics, one that made him distrust everyone in the room. It was his name… but it was also a sign that he was about to either be crushed by demonic forces… or slammed into the ground so hard he wouldn’t be able to see straight.

“Or not!” Delia said out of nowhere, her hands raised in surrender. “We don’t have to call you that!”

Beetlejuice blinked hard, watching the way Adam and Barbara looked at him with so much pity, it almost hurt. It was too good to be true. They didn’t actually _care_. No one ever did… so why would it change now? Feeling bitterness take the place of discomfort, Beetlejuice worked his jaw a bit before he spoke.

“I’ve got another rule,” he said darkly. “No lying to me.”

Adam was up and holding his hand out for the chalk without pause. “It has to be a blanket rule. So _everyone_ can follow.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully and said, “And manipulation should be included.” At that, Barbara seemed to relax and lean back against the sofa.

“Oh, yes, please. No more manipulating… I don’t want another accidental-exorcism.”

Beetlejuice grimace and wiggled a bit where he stood. “C’mon, Babs. You know I wouldn’t _really_ let her send you off like that.”

Adam gave him a sidelong glance as he wrote out the eighth rule.

  1. _Manipulation and malicious lies will not be tolerated._



“Oof,” Beetlejuice groaned as he put a hand over his heart. “Malicious. You’re wounding me.”

“It’s not only for _you_ , Mr. Juice.”

“Seriously, Chuckles, that is _never_ going to get old.”

Charles ignored that and put his hands behind his back. He had those broad, straight shoulders. The kind that held the weight of the world, even though they didn’t really _have to._ And Delia stood next to him, all open-minded and bright eyes as she looked at Beetlejuice. He flashed her a toothy smile full of sharp, lethal teeth, but she only raised an amused eyebrow. His smile fell; these people weren’t really scared of him anymore. They were… _tolerating_ him.

No matter how many times he concept came through his mind it wasn’t sinking in. Normal people and Beetlejuice went together the same way toasters and bathtubs go together. Someone was going to end up burned and most likely shuffled off to the Netherworld… and that someone was _rarely_ the normal people. It was almost always Beetlejuice. Scary, strange, and unusual Beetlejuice. No one _wanted_ him… so why the hell was this happening? Were they out of their minds? Was this all a tactic to get him to _do_ stuff for them?

Glancing at the chalkboard again, Beetlejuice frowned and said. “And everybody agrees to those rules right there?” The inhabitants of the attic nodded and murmured agreements, and Beetlejuice ground his teeth a little. “And _no one_ would be lying about that?”

“Beej,” Delia said gently, like she was trying to talk to a nervous animal. He gave her a bored look, and she smiled. “These rules are supposed to help set a good structure for the house. No one is trying to manipulate you.”

Beetlejuice took a harsh step back. “Wha—I never said I was—who said I was thinking that? I didn’t say that. You… maybe _you’re_ scared that I’m manipulating _you_.” He nodded officially. “Looks like the tables have turned, Darla.”

“You’re deflecting,” Delia said sharply, those eyes still watching him from across the room. On the sofa, Adam and Barbara looked a little nervous, like they weren’t sure what kind of situation was unfolding around them. Delia, however, was calm as she said, “And deflecting is normal. You’re anxious. Upset. This wasn’t a welcome environment for you last time, and we can work together to combine our energies into something more _positive_.”

Reeling back a little more, Beetlejuice fumbled at the hem of his jacket—no. It wasn’t his suit jacket. He’d left that on the floor of the guest room. He was wearing an old, soft sweatshirt. One that felt nice against his skin… but felt suffocating now that he was under so much scrutiny. They were just _watching_ him, gauging his reaction. Probably thinking how stupid he was for not _leaping_ at the chance to have a normal house life. But how could he? He’d never had anything like this before, with rules and people wanting him to feel welcome… it was weird. A little jarring. He didn’t like the feeling. The sweatshirt suddenly felt itchy. He scratched a hand through his hair; it was probably a different color. He couldn’t stop the changes if he tried.

“Beetlejuice?” Adam asked gently, standing from his seat but not advancing toward him. His hands were outstretched, ready to help him should the need arise… but he didn’t come down on him. He didn’t force it. Next to him, Barbara was wringing her hands. They were _worried_ about him. “I’m sure Delia didn’t mean to _upset_ you…”

“I’m not upset!” Beetlejuice shouted. He didn’t _mean_ to yell… but it just happened. And Adam flinched back hard enough for Barbara to steady him where he stood. Charles frowned, but didn’t look surprised. Of course not. He _knew_ Beetlejuice was a hot mess… he wasn’t surprised that he was being like this. Delia looked… a little disappointed. He hated that. He hated _all_ of this. “I… didn’t meant to get loud, I just,” he paused, looked around at the Maitlands and the Deetz. They were staring. They were _uncomfortable_. This whole ‘rules’ thing wasn’t going to last. Not even for a day. Gritting his teeth, he snarled, “Fuck it.”

Barbara jumped forward, trying to stop him, “Beetlejuice, wait!”

He was already gone.

+++++

Delia wasn’t a stupid woman. She was what many people called “an airhead,” but this didn’t make her an idiot. No, she was a well-educated woman. She was also very spiritual, and energies and crystals _did_ have a purpose, regardless of Otho’s tragically-revealed fraud. No, she still believed in the forces of energy and spiritual power, and with her life-coaching training, it was paying off. She saw an opportunity to help a particular emotionally-repressed demon.

She opened her heart, ready to understand that complicated netting of fragile feelings surrounding Beetlejuice… and he simply disappeared in a puff of green smoke. If the red flash dusting the top of his hair was any sign, he seemed angry. But just a moment before that… it had been a deep, depressing blue. Like some heat-triggered mood ring, he was wearing his emotions on his sleeve and in perfect honesty, it wasn’t a bad thing. It actually made Delia’s job easier.

Charles was off and tearing through the door, seemingly afraid that Beetlejuice had run off to a particular area of the house. Delia, however, stayed in the attic with the Maitlands, watching the way Barbara wrung her hands worriedly. Adam came to cup her face, looking into her eye and giving her a reassuring smile. The air around them was gentle… and it was reminiscent of the good, refreshing energy she’d felt when she first entered the house with Charles.

Pursing her lips, Delia tapped a well-manicured finger on her bicep as she looked at the space where Beetlejuice had stood moments before. “You don’t really think he’s going to do something drastic, do you?”

Barbara and Adam gave her a baffled look. “Well,” Adam said, glancing at Barbara for permission before he went on. “He’s… eccentric. And a little off-kilter. When we died, he just seemed so happy to have _someone_ to talk to… now it seems like he can’t believe that so many people are willingly talking to him.”

Barbara nodded a little, looking a little ashamed as she said, “He’s… needy. And I want to understand, I really do, but… he doesn’t understand normal boundaries. I wonder… I wonder if it’s because he’s been alone for so long?”

“Right, right… that said,” Adam concluded shakily. “I don’t think he’s as angry as he was before. No one is leaving him. He’s just—”

“Overwhelmed,” Delia nodded as she headed for the door. “Let us know if he comes back up here.”

“The roof,” Adam said softly. Delia turned, giving him an interesting look as he pointed one finger upwards. “The last time he left us… he went to sulk on the roof. That’s probably where he is.”

Delia nodded… and closed the attic door behind her. She could go up to the attic, but first she had to make sure Charles was still in one piece mentally. She found him peeking his head into Lydia’s bedroom, looking around at every corner before he stepped back into the hallway. She met him with a hug, ready to pat the stiffness out of his shoulders.

“I thought…” he said, his hands clinging to her lower back. “God, I thought he might’ve come back down for Lydia.”

Delia sighed and ran a hand through Charles’ hair, her fingers trailing over the short hairs on the nape of his neck. “He’s already tried _living_ , Charles, and he didn’t exactly enjoy it. I doubt he’d come back down here and try to force Lydia to marry him again.”

“It’s not just the marriage,” Charles said as he peeled himself off of her and continued down the hall. She followed him, taking the stairs slowly as Charles sighed, “The way he was so _intent_ on killing me, those months ago… you saw how close he got with that knife.”

“And Adam stopped him.”

“But if Adam _hadn’t_ —”

“Charles,” she murmured, reaching out to grab and rub his shoulders. He paused, standing still to let her massage the tense, locked muscles there as she said, “He thought we were _lying_ to him. And, dammit… _we were_. He knew he wasn’t wanted. And that’s why he was upset.”

That didn’t lessen his discomfort, and it was clear with the way the muscles in his jaw worked furiously. “And you think this is different? We don’t want him here, we—”

“ _You_ might not,” Delia said sternly as she stepped around to face him. She was a little shorter without her heels, but she still felt tall when he ducked his chin. “But Lydia likes him. The Maitlands have already forgiven him. I can see he has… issues. And I think we can move forward with that.” Charles refused to look at her, and Delia leaned over to catch his eye with a smile. “You don’t have to _like_ him, Charles. You just need to keep an open mind. How is anything supposed to get in otherwise?”

“You’re so positive,” he said with a tired smile. “It’s one of the things that endlessly irritates… and endears me.”

“And you’re too serious,” she said as he pulled him close for a kiss. “But I love it when you loosen up.”

He sighed, his breath hot on her lips as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ll… _try_. I can’t guarantee that I won’t be anxious around him, but…”

“Just let us work through the rules,” Delia promised warmly. “And you can worry about the whole ‘trust’ issue later.”

That was easier said than done, but it was good enough for the time being. Until then, Charles would have to settle with tolerating Beetlejuice’s conditional presence. And if Beetlejuice broke the rules, an exorcist would a called and Charles’ worries would be assuaged. There wasn’t a big loss either way… but _keeping_ Beetlejuice would definitely garner benefits. At the very least, it would make Lydia happy. She spoke about him often – though the topic was stiff and often avoided – but when she _did_ speak of him, it was in a fond, playful tone. Like a childhood friend that moved away.

Delia nodded to herself as she climbed the stairs and opened the window that lead to the flat part of the roof. Lydia might not _need_ Beetlejuice, but she definitely _wanted_ him to stick around. And Beetlejuice… well, it seemed obvious that he wanted to stay. From what the Maitlands told her, he was desperate for companionship, no matter what kind. If that was going to happen, she had to get past that prickly, red exterior and find the normal, green Beetlejuice.

Walking on a roof in ballet-flats is dangerous. That was a lesson that Delia Deetz had not been prepared to learn, but a new experience was enrichment for the soul, so she couldn’t exactly be angry. She found him sitting on the edge of the roof, glaring down at the birdbath in the front yard. The skies were gray. The late-autumn air blew right through her long-sleeved shirt… but she didn’t back down. She shuffled toward him carefully, trying not to slip on the shingles, before she sat down next to him and let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re still here,” she said calmly, glancing at his mess of blue and purple hair. The colors faded a little when she sat down, resembling dye that was being washed-out, bit by bit. Delia brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “It’s chilly up here.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice mumbled, still looking vaguely depressed. A few seconds dragged by, and he muttered, “Are, uh… are Barb and Adam mad? That I yelled?”

Delia blinked at him. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Huh.” He looked into the distance. “They’re so plain and vanilla… didn’t think they liked it rough and loud.”

Rolling her eyes, Delia huffed a sigh. “You know, humor is fun, but it’s not the best coping mechanism.”

“I’ll cope _your_ mechanism,” he grumbled crossly. Delia couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Beetlejuice… we aren’t trying to lie to you. We aren’t trying to use you.”

He gave her a dark look. “The rules say no lying.”

“And I’m _not_ ,” she promised gently, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. She looked at the hand, then at her, and looked away. She let the hand drop. “We know you can’t get back to the… _other place_ , and we’re willing to let you stay. No lies. No tricks.”

“That’s all breathers do with guys like me!” He said as he spread his hands wide. The blue and purple of his hair was nearly gone, leaving a bright green in its place… but it was dusted with hints of yellow. She wasn’t sure what that meant as Beetlejuice produced a rock and threw it over the edge of the roof. “Bait and switch. Trick the guy into thinking you want him there, use him for whatever you want, and _bam_ … kick ‘em to the curb.”

Delia leaned forward a little, attempting to meet Beetlejuice’s eye as she said, “And that’s happened to you a lot, hmm?”

Beetlejuice gave her a sidelong look, his hair darkening to a deep blue. “I don’t feel like monologuing. Takes up too much space on the page.”

“Fine. Then _I will_.” Delia cleared her throat and looked out at the town, the bare trees swaying in cold wind while she spoke. “We want you to stay, Beetlejuice. At the very least, _Lydia_ wants you to. You’ve been through a lot of things… rejection, abuse—”

“Where the _hell_ are you getting that info?”

“—but the point of the matter is, we want you to stay. All you have to do is live by the house rules, just like everyone else.” She looked at him, seeing the way he was staring at her in unabashed confusion. She smiled thinly. “The rules on boundaries are probably the biggest thing. You’re a very… physical man.”

“I’m a demon, but whatever.”

“Right, demon… but you have to understand,” she said, “Not _everyone_ wants you to touch them like that. What was it Adam said? You groped and pinched—”

Beetlejuice grimaced. “And harassed. Yeah. Are you up here to make me feel like some kinda perv? Because it’s working.”

“I’m just saying,” Delia readdressed calmly, “That you don’t know the limits. And I’m here to set the record straight. I don’t want Charles to have to call a priest if he doesn’t have to, Beetlejuice. And I doubt you have someplace better to go.” Beetlejuice grumbled, and Delia went on. “If you want to kiss someone, you should ask for permission.”

He gave her a baffled look. “Every time? All the time? With _anyone?_ That’s not how people worked before.”

“Times have changed,” Delia snapped. “Consent is important.” Beetlejuice seemed to mull this for a moment, and Delia continued. “Groping and pinching is inappropriate. You shouldn’t do that to people.”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips and gave her a narrow-eyed look. “What if they _want_ me to pinch and grope them?”

Delia rolled her eyes. “Then that’s different. That’s something you and that person will have to agree to… mutually.”

Groaning melodramatically, Beetlejuice laid back against the roof shingles and bemoaned, “All this ‘ _agreeing’_ and _‘permission_ ’ stuff… never had to do that before.”

Delia gave him a look. “That’s only because you didn’t have standards for behavior before. Now you do.”

“Standards,” Beetlejuice repeated, a little perturbed by the word. “Sounds like expectations to me.”

“Maybe so,” Delia said as she looked out at the town again. Cars puttered along the roads. People walked dogs and waved to neighbors. It was a normal day… and she was on the roof with a demon. A demon that wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought he would be.

“You know,” Beetlejuice said where he was laying on the shingles. “This is like… the first… _normal_ conversation I’ve had in a while. Kinda weird.”

“You don’t just… talk to people normally?”

Beetlejuice shrugged. “My job keeps me up here a lot and, well, normally people can’t see me. Breathers normally don’t notice the strange or unusual… not until it scares the ever-loving hell out of them.” He shrugged. “Don’t really have normal conversation topics to bring up… unless you want to hear about the time I ‘made nachos’ with Kathrine Hepburn?”

“I’ll pass but thank you.” Delia rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them up as she shivered and said, “Why won’t we go back inside? It’s cold out here.”

Beetlejuice was still for a moment, staring up at the gray, gray sky before he huffed and said, “You go ahead. I’m gonna hang out up here for a little while.”

“Right,” Delia carefully stood up, ready to climb back through one of the attic windows. “Be careful not to fall.”

“Or what?” Beetlejuice laughed. “You scared I’ll die?”

Delia knocked on the attic window and Barbara opened it for her, peeking out to see Beetlejuice. When she saw him and his normal, green hair, Barbara visibly relaxed. Delia grinned and shot back to him, “No. I’m just scared we’ll have to peel you off the sidewalk with a spatula.”

“Oh, Diana,” Beetlejuice sighed. “That sounds like a hell of a time to me.”

+++++

It was a full hour and a half later when Beetlejuice rolled himself off the roof and crawled through the attic window. The Maitlands weren’t there, seemingly downstairs doing whatever it was they did with their spare time now that they were dead. It was almost sad, not having them there. He would’ve appreciated a little tease. He frowned; was that against the rules now?

If he didn’t touch, it was probably fine. Probably. Boundaries, Delia had said. It was all about boundaries. Not that he knew exactly what that meant. He’d never had boundaries or limits before. When you’re dead, you just _go with the flow_ and try not to get caught underfoot of something bigger and meaner than you. This ‘going with the flow’ usually included a fair amount of casual flings, handjobs, and the occasional orgy that Beetlejuice _loved_ … but now that he had rules and wasn’t able to go back to the Netherworld, was that all off the table?

Stuffing his hands into the large pocket of his sweatshirt – he was beginning to miss his suit – he bounced down the stairs. He wasn’t angry or upset… Delia’s little chat had worked wonders on his anxiety. Which was _nice_ … but also weird. It was like she was happy to be nice to him or something. Like he actually wanted him to be comfortable. Again, weird.

He hit the first-floor landing and saw Barbara playing with a little block of wood while Adam read. She had a blade. _Nice._ She was carving the wood. _Nicer_. And Adam was wearing those damn little glasses that made him look like a rumpled little nerd all tucked into the crook of the sofa and legs crossed calmly. He could tease them… but he decided not to. He shuffled forward until Adam raised his head and actually _smiled_ at him.

“Hey,” Adam said, causing Barbara to look up. Adam’s book was closed and set aside. “Is everything… alright?”

Beetlejuice shrugged heavily. “Fine, I guess. Could be better.”

“Well, that’s good!” Barbara chirped, almost like she was _excited_ to talk to him. But that wasn’t possible. They couldn’t really like him, no matter what Delia said. “We were worried we made you upset without meaning to.”

He gave her a stiff look. “Babs… you’re ridiculously cute. Anyone ever told you that? Just a _stupid_ amount of adorable.”

Sitting upright a little taller, Barbara blinked… and smiled. “Adam tells me I’m cute all the time!”

Pointing a sharp finger at Adam, Beetlejuice ordered, “Tell her more often.”

“Yes, sir!” Adam laughed as he adjusted his glasses and opened his book again.

Well. It seemed the conversation was over… he didn’t want to push it, though. He didn’t like the idea of being kicked out should he break the rules. Staying with the Maitlands was tempting enough. He wanted to grab her, touch him, kiss both… but he knew limits. He wasn’t a sadist. But he also wasn’t a masochist… at least, not entirely. So he turned on his heel and sought out Delia.

He found her upstairs, in her and Charles’ bedroom, digging through a box full of rocks with strong determination. He watched her from the doorway, glancing at where Charles was tapping away at his laptop on his desk. He looked focused, she looked distracted… and Lydia was still asleep, so he couldn’t bug her. He grimaced; what was the point of being _seen_ if there was no one to talk to?

“Beetlejuice!” Delia said suddenly, her hands still caught in the box of rocks as she looked up at him. Beetlejuice felt the tug under his ribcage… but it wasn’t unpleasant, so he let it slide. Charles pivoted at his desk, giving him a distrusting look. Beetlejuice grinned at him, and Charles turned away. Fine. Didn’t want to talk to him anyway. Delia’s voice cut through him as she said, “What do you need?”

He looked at her… hesitated… and shrugged. “Dunno. Y’all can see me, but… you’re all busy. Not sure what… to uh….”

“Don’t wake Lydia,” Charles barked from his desk, his back still to Beetlejuice as he spoke. Beetlejuice gave him a dark look, but it went unheeded. “She had a rough night. Let her sleep.”

Well, now he _wanted_ to go wake up Lydia. He hated being told what to do… unless it was Juno telling him off. Then he avoided that limitation like the plague. He didn’t fight though. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be kicked out… that meant _no_ hanging out with Lydia at all.

Delia, apparently, had other plans. “I have a question for you, Beetlejuice… you can feel energy, can’t you?”

Shifting in the doorway, Beetlejuice pulled a face. “You mean like electricity? Yeah. Sat in an electric chair once. _Not_ as fun as it sounds.”

Apparently, that didn’t shock Delia. She resumed her box-digging. “I meant spiritual energy.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure, yeah I know about that.”

“Come here,” Delia waved him over, looking down at the box with that same intense concentration while Charles gave him a baffled look. A little intrigued, Beetlejuice stepped into the room and came to stare down at the box. She held up a shiny, glittery, yellow rock and gave it to him. “Hold this.”

He took it. Held it. Felt the pinpricks of… _something_ in his fingertips. He normally felt spiritual energy when it was lingering in the air down in the Netherworld. He felt the crack of it when Juno was angry, and the softness of Miss Maria Argentina’s bold-but-gentle reassurances. This was just… tingly. Like a melding of thoughts and feelings that he wasn’t sure what to do with.

That must’ve been bad, because Delia took the stone away. “Not citrine,” she murmured to herself as she dug through the box some more. Beetlejuice quirked an eyebrow.

“What? Am I not good enough for your rocks?”

Delia laughed. “That rock isn’t good enough for _you_ ,” she corrected, producing a gray, smooth stone and placing it in his palm. “Let’s try this one. Labradorite.”

He gave her a look… and then looked at the stone. This one was cool and flat in his hand. It had little cuts of iridescent scars chasing around the surface as he stared at it. He almost wanted to take a bite of it, just to see if it was as crunchy as it looked. It made him feel… heavy. Like his very essence was being dragged closer to the floor… just to compensate for the feeling, he lifted himself off the ground, floating in the air instead of letting his feet stay on the floor. Delia watched him, surprised that he could float.

“Is… is that a good thing? Does it make you feel light?” She asked, all hopeful and excited. Beetlejuice handed the stone to her, and she frowned.

“Felt heavy, so I’m up here now.” He shrugged and kicked his feet. “This is _boring_ … why are we playing with rocks again?”

“To find which one can help you open your chakras,” Delia said smoothly as she went searching for a new stone. Beetlejuice huffed and splayed out in the air in a grand display of displeasure.

“The only thing I wanna open up to is a good, wholesome orgy.”

Delia gave him a sharp look. “I’m not sure a ‘wholesome’ orgy exists, but I digress.” She handed him a new rock, and he begrudgingly took it. He wasn’t happy about it, but he took it.

Smoothly polished, this green stone had rings of color as well. That lighter, mint green melting into the dark… the energy was cold. Not bitter. Not angry. But more like cold, winter air and ice water on his skin. It felt like sharp-tongued banter with Lydia. It felt like calling her ‘stupid’ and her responding with ‘no _you._ ’ It felt like watching the Maitlands curl together on the couch, all soft and happy… but distant. Out of his reach. He held the green rock… and didn’t _like_ it… but he also didn’t _dislike_ it.

“Beetlejuice?” Delia asked softly, snapping him out of his little reverie. “You look a little… blue.”

Placing his feet back on the ground, Beetlejuice held a hand to his hair. He pulled a lock of hair down, seeing the blue that darkened the tips. Stupid hair giving him away. Without thought, he dropped the rock back into Delia’s box and wiped his hands on his pants, trying to get rid of the tingly energy that lingered.

“Yeah, not sure this is my scene, Debby.” The bedroom door creaked open a little more, and Beetlejuice turned to see Lydia standing in the doorway with tired eyes and messy hair. Bouncing a little where he stood, he smiled wide and said, “ _Finally_ , someone who knows how to have fun!”

Lydia looked at him blearily and scratched a hand through her hair. “Is that my Dad’s sweatshirt?”

Beetlejuice looked down at himself… and then looked back to Lydia with a stern expression. “I’ve taken up petty-theft as a hobby.”

Lydia nodded reasonably. “Cool.”

“We _gave_ it to him,” Delia corrected smoothly. Beetlejuice shot her a glare, and she ignored it. “Good morning, by the way. Your hair is…”

“Perfect!” Beetlejuice snapped, ready to cut her off and mess with Lydia’s hair. He stepped forward, ruffling it up even more until Lydia couldn’t see through a curtain of knotted and wild black hair. He puffed up his chest proudly. “Look at you. Like a little gremlin.”

“Whatever,” Lydia droned as she turned in her father’s general direction. “Hey, Dad… Beej is still staying with us, right? You didn’t change your mind when you woke up?”

Charles didn’t look away from his work as he grumbled, “No, dear, I didn’t change my mind. Mr. Juice is free to stay with us as long as he follows the House Rules.”

“Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah… Lyds!” Beetlejuice grabbed her shoulders and fought the urge to shake her with excitement. “Whaddya wanna do today?” Lydia hummed and walked back to her room. She shut the door behind herself, and Beetlejuice called through the door: “We could hide in the mailbox and scare the shit out of the mailman! Or maybe that’s low-hanging fruit… oh! We could go up to the roof and throw stuff and people who walk by! And by stuff, I mean severed arms.” He pulled an extra arm of his sleeve and waved it for reference. “I have plenty.”

Lydia’s voice echoed oddly in her room, just loud enough for him to hear. “I actually wanted to check out this ‘haunted house’ on the edge of town.”

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and shoved the arm back into his sleeve. “Kid, you _have_ a haunted house. What makes this one better than the one you have?”

“Because I don’t _live_ in that one,” Lydia said as she emerged from her bedroom in torn black stockings and a dark gray dress. The lace on the shoulders was fraying, but she probably knew that. Beetlejuice liked it this way. Made her look dead… without actually _being_ dead. Around her neck, her old, polaroid camera was slung, ready and willing to take a picture of _whatever_ Lydia was expecting from this new ‘haunted house.’ She looked at Beetlejuice and grinned. “If there’s something in there I don’t like, you can scare it.”

He nodded sagely. “Like _actual_ gremlins.”

“I meant, like… squatters. But sure, whatever.” She leaned into her father’s bedroom and said, “Hey, Dad? Beej and I are going up the street. Just to Faulkner’s Drive.”

Charles turned, an obvious refusal on his lips, only to have Delia interrupt with a smiling, “Don’t be out too late!”

Lydia dashed for the stairs, all excited-energy that was terribly contagious. He ran with her, high on her laughter as she burst into the living-room. There, she leaned down and gave Barbara a kiss on the cheek and Adam a pat on the shoulder… and she was running for the door. The Maitlands watched Beetlejuice go with her, a little weary of how he would say his goodbyes… but he was smart. Well, that was debatable. He wasn’t _not_ smart. He was just easily caught-up in the moment.

So, he entirely forgot to kiss Adam and Barbara as he chased Lydia to the door. Maybe if he did that ‘permission’ thing Delia talked about, he could do it when they got back. Maybe.

“Jesus, Lyds! Why are we running?”

“Because!” Lydia tore open the door with a wide, crazy smile. “If we don’t leave now, Dad will change his mind and drag us back inside!” She bounded down the front steps and looked at him expectantly. “You’re coming, right?”

Beetlejuice took a step over the threshold and heard Adam call, “Take care of our girl!” right before Barbara added, “Have fun you two!”

Something in him jolted a little; they would never be able to come outside with him. They wouldn’t be able to see him defend Lydia from the squatters, should they be in the haunted house. They wouldn’t feel the cold bite of winter that sets-in after long, long minutes spent in the snow. They wouldn’t be able to walk down the street with him and Lydia. If they did, they’d be immediately shunted off to Saturn and eaten by a sandworm. It was sad… and he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Kisses made things go away. It made things _easier_. It changed the tone of the moment from… _whatever_ … to frustration. No one _liked it_ when Beetlejuice kissed them. And that could potentially make the weird feeling in his gut go away. But still… the rules said—

“Beej. Earth to Beej. You in there, you big weirdo?” Beetlejuice gave Lydia a sharp smile and she only grinned. “Cool you’re still here. _Let’s_ _go_.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Adam has entrusted me with your safety,” he said melodramatically. Lydia snorted, and Beetlejuice laughed a little himself. “Let’s go. I wanna see this bullshit haunted house of yours.”

Rolling his eyes, Beetlejuice reached back and closed the door on the Maitlands. They were out of sight… but not nearly out of mind. No, they were just lingering in the back of his head while they walked. Like a heavy-weighted blanket that he had draped over his shoulders. _God_ , he wanted them. They were so soft and adorable and _doable_. But rules were rules. Why was he following rules, anyway? Rules are stupid. He glanced down at Lydia, seeing the way her still-frizzy hair was bouncing as she walked. Oh, that’s right. He _liked_ hanging out with this little monster. He had to obey the rules… at least, as long as he possibly could.

Tucking his hands into the big pocket of the hoodie – it was growing on him, he wasn’t going to lie – Beetlejuice took a deep breath of cold, cold air that he didn’t need. “ _So!_ Where’s this house that we’re going to haunt?”

Lydia looked down at her camera, checking the shutter and bulb as she muttered, “Uh… like, a ten-minute walk down the street. I’m kinda excited to check it out. They say it kept getting interrupted while it was being built. Like, they didn’t know what was stopping it? But… weird shit. Haunting kinda stuff.”

Beetlejuice looked at her. “Who’s they?”

“ _People_ ,” Lydia said nonspecifically. “It’s like… a rumor I heart around town when I was out—” she shuddered, “— _clothes shopping…_ with Delia.”

With a long, hissing inhale, Beetlejuice gave her a quick onceover. “How bad was it?”

“Pastels,” Lydia answered tersely. Beetlejuice winced, and she repeated, “It was _all_ pastels, Beej. I thought I was gonna throw up.”

“You should’ve. Vomit is a _great_ way to make people leave you alone,” he said, and when she gave him a nervous look, he gave her shoulder a hard pat. “Hey, don’t worry kid! I’m not gonna ralph on you!” He paused, just to give it dramatic effect, before he said, “ _Probably_.”

Heaving a groan, Lydia elbowed him in the side hard. “ _Ugh_ , you’re gross.”

“Yeah, but we’re BFFFF’s forever!” He said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and flourishing his other hand dramatically. “Forever. _And ever_. You’re stuck with me, kid.”

“Whatever,” Lydia murmured. Despite that, she leaned into his side a little, a warm little pocket under his arm as they walked. “You know, I’m actually glad you’re back.”

“Aww, Lydia… are you getting mushy on me?”

“ _No_ , I just wouldn’t be able to check out this house without you.”

Beetlejuice frowned as they approached the property. It seemed open enough; no fence, no barbed wire… _a lot_ of ‘Condemned’ signs. Seemed like the nice place for a haunting, if the ghost wanted to be on the edge of suburban life while _also_ drawing a curious crowd. Honestly, it was prime real estate for haunters that wanted to hone their skills… but that wasn’t the point. Beetlejuice gave Lydia a look.

“Why the hell can’t you come here without me?”

She walked him up the front steps and pointed at the large numeric lock that was hooked over the doorknob and tumbler. “Can’t get in, Smart Guy.”

“ _Can’t get in, Smart Guy,”_ he repeated mockingly with a snap of his fingers. The lock _snapped_ and shattered to pieces, littering the front porch as Lydia danced on her tiptoes and held her camera at the ready. Without pause, Beetlejuice leaned back and kicked in the door, ushering Lydia inside with a sweep of his arm. “Gremlins first, I insist.”

“Shut up.” Lydia shook her head with a smile and stepped inside. The floorboards moaned… but they wouldn’t break. He would _know_ if this was Lydia’s last day with a household accident. Accidents were his specialty… and he wasn’t going to Guide Lydia. Not today.

Lydia tilted her head back, looking up at an old, dusty light-fixture fastened with fake crystals made of glass. With a long, quiet “ _woah_ ,” she took a picture and went to the stairs. Dusty, but unused. No one had ever moved in. Beetlejuice followed her as she snapped photo after photo. The stairs, the light switches, the open, empty entrance and living room… it was empty, but she took pictures of every nook and cranny.

Beetlejuice wanted to scare her. He wanted to jump up behind her and shout “Boo!” as loud as possible. But something set him on edge. Like a Newly Dead had popped up in his vicinity… but he couldn’t recognize a name or location. Or maybe someone was trying to summon him but getting his name just a _fraction_ off. Or even a soul that was standing halfway between the human world and the Netherworld. It was a weird sensation… and it kept him from being at ease.

“Beej!” Lydia called, waving him over to the far-right corner of the living room. It was dark and damp and smelled of mold – a _great_ first impression on him – and she pointed to a stain on the hardwood. “Is this _blood_? It would be so cool if it was blood.”

Beetlejuice shuffled over, kneeled down, and scraped his fingers along the wood. It came off chalky… but still damp in his hand. Black mold, probably. He wouldn’t be positive until he tried it, so he stuck his fingers in his mouth and tasted bitter, wet dirt.

“Nah,” he said after a moment. “That’s mold, kid. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“You _ate_ it.” Lydia looked at him, clearly disgusted, and he beamed. With a roll of her eyes, she gestured for him to get close to the dark stain. “Strike a pose. I want you in the pic with your… weird snack.”

“Not a good snack. If I wanted to eat something chalky while wasting my time, I’d straight-up munch some cocaine.”

Beetlejuice laid out and stuck a sexy pose next to the mold patch. Lydia shook her head but took the picture anyway with that shutter and _pop_ of the camera. When the picture was spat out, she pinched it between her fingers and shook it while looking around the room.

“I dunno,” she said after a moment. “I think I was expecting some like… actual ghosts.”

Standing up from the floor – his new sweatshirt sleeve was damp from the mold… he didn’t exactly like that – Beetlejuice shrugged. “Can’t win ‘em all, kid. If there _was_ a ghost here, they probably got shuffled off to the Netherworld.”

“Adam and Barb didn’t,” she said as she started to climb the stairs. He trailed behind her, his fingernails scraping against the finished banisters as they went.

“I got Adam and Barbs to stay _here_ , with _me_ , by throwing out their Handbook.” Beetlejuice leaned against the wall while Lydia took candid pictures of the long, empty hallway lit by the light coming through an old, dusty window at the end. He huffed. “They would’ve followed the Handbook like the fucking _squares_ that they are. But! I got them to stay. And here we are.”

Lydia chuckled to herself and shook her new picture. “Here we are,” she repeated as she wandered into one of the rooms. She took a picture of a new, dusty light fixture, shook the exposure, and tucked it away in the pocket of her dress. She had a lot of them in there. If she ran out of space, she’d probably start to ask Beetlejuice to carry them. They found a bathroom, another room that could have been an office, and then the master bedroom. “ _Dude_ , it’s bigger than my Dad’s.”

Beetlejuice snorted from the hallway “ _Bigger than your Dad’s.”_

Lydia stepped into the room and looked back at him. “His _room_ , you dork. C’mon, I want to see—”

She didn’t get to finish that statement.

Something sprang out from the farthest, darkest corner of the room. It was thin, all sharp-angles and jutting bones. Beetlejuice had seen them before; the half-deads that caused craziness wherever they decided to stay. The ones that _thrived_ in dead areas and didn’t know what to do with themselves otherwise. The creatures who had one foot through that glowing, smoking doorway… and one in the world of the living. With sharp teeth, clawed hands, and sunken eyes.

And it was lunging for Lydia.

Before she had a chance to flinch, before she even had a chance to scream, Beetlejuice knocked her to the ground and took the hit from the half-dead. They hit the ground and rolled, the half-dead clawing at his new sweatshirt and pajama pants as they went. It snapped and pulled and scratched. Beetlejuice felt panic well up… as well as a healthy amount of rage.

“Beej!” Lydia cried, holding her arm where she had fallen on the floor. Beetlejuice was trying to hold the half dead off of him, holding a sharp-toothed jaw away from him as it continued to claw and bite at him. It got several of his fingers caught in those sharp teeth, tore open a hole in his sweatshirt, and didn’t stop there. “What—what the _hell_ is that?”

“I’m a little _busy_ for a fucking show-and-tell lesson, Lyds!” He growled as he threw the half-dead onto the floor and bared his teeth. He was a demon. He was _just_ as scary as a half-dead, if not more. He snarled, low and grating, and the half-dead took a few, shuddering paces back. Its skin was gray and papery. Its limbs were thin and wiry. Mangled clothes hung off its skin, but it didn’t seem to notice it. Beetlejuice stood himself as a physical roadblock between Lydia and the half-dead as he said: “You heard of a _real_ poltergeist, kid?”

“Y… yeah, why?”

“’cause you’re looking at one,” he growled, earning a hiss from the half-dead. He bared sharp, dangerous teeth that were longer and sharper than the half-dead’s, and it backed away a little more, curling low on its hands and knees as it stared up at him with sunken eyes and trembling, thin fingers. Beetlejuice didn’t relax. “Breathers don’t normally see these bastards… _normally_.”

Lifting up her camera, Lydia took a shot of the thing before Beetlejuice had a chance to tell her to stop. The half-dead snapped like a coiled spring and this time Beetlejuice wasn’t fast enough to push her out of the way. It grabbed her with sharp fingers and she screamed. She actually _screamed_.

Beetlejuice loved screaming. It meant that he was _seen_. It meant that people knew of his presence and he wasn’t invisible anymore. It meant that somehow, someway, he’d made people acknowledge him. But this… Lydia screaming and kicking and fighting the half-dead… it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t a rush of excitement or joy. He was _furious_.

Already rushing for her, Beetlejuice took the half-dead by the shoulders and threw it across the room. The room shook. The floorboards groaned ominously. The non-electrified wiring was sparking and flickering. He growled, and the house itself shuddered. The half-dead was crumpled up by the wall, trying to articulate its sharp, thin limbs so it could stand. He wouldn’t give it the chance. With a flourish of his arm, he produced a crowbar… and threw it at the nearest window. It shattered on impact, leaving the half-dead to chitter and hiss as he approached. It tried to scramble away. It _tried_ … but it didn’t get that far. Beetlejuice wrapped a thick hand around its neck and forcefully threw it out the broken window.

Within a fraction of a second the half-dead was gone, shot off to mars with no chance of coming back to the world of the living. In the wake of the dismissal, the house ceased to moan. The lights didn’t flicker. Beetlejuice shook with anger… but it didn’t last long. Lydia’s quiet, scared voice broke through him.

“Beej?” She asked, like she wasn’t sure he’d hear her. He turned, seeing her cradling several bloody punctures on her arms. Immediately, he felt the hot, angry steam rush out of him, replaced with shaking fear. She blinked and looked relieved. “Good. You’re back to normal.”

Beetlejuice blinked and walked over to help her up. “What…? What are you talking about?”

She leaned into his arm and said, “The hair. You went red for a while.”

Touching a hand to his hair, he huffed and said, “What color am I now?”

Tilting her head back, she looked up at him and shivered as she said, “Um… green? Green with like… frosted tips. Pretty sure those went out of style.”

“Shut up,” Beetlejuice snapped as he helped her out of the room. The punctures were small and weren’t deep… but she was bleeding. Bleeding was bad. Blood was supposed to stay _inside_ the body. He was at least 67 percent sure that was the case. Licking his lips, he pulled a long piece of cloth from thin air, pinching and wrapping it around her right bicep before he could fasten it with an old, brass pin from his sleeve. He did the same with her left arm, leaving her with two green sleeves on top of her torn dress sleeves. He fidgeted a little. “You, uh… you good?”

She sniffled a little, looking down at her arms darkly before she shrugged. “This is fine. I just… we should go home.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding to himself before shifting between his feet uncertainly. “Yeah, we should… whatever.”

They left the house and Beetlejuice didn’t bother to fix the lock on his way out. He didn’t care. Lydia was more important than that and Lydia was _hurt_. She put on a brave face, but weren’t young breathers supposed to be more fragile? Weren’t they supposed to cry and scream when they were hurt? She had cried the night before, with the muggers… but they hadn’t even left a scratch on her. Unless they _had_ and she was good at hiding it.

“Are these clean?” She asked after a few minutes of walking. Beetlejuice blinked and looked at her, and she pointed to the green makeshift bandages. “These. Are they clean?”

“Uh… probably?” He shrugged and fingered the gap in his sweatshirt. He could stitch it back together, but it was more irritating than anything. “Depends how clean you think stuff from a dead guy can be.”

Lydia nodded and sighed, “I have to clean out the cuts anyway. Forget it.”

They walked the rest of the way home in uncomfortable silence. It wasn’t Beetlejuice’s favorite thing, but he kept his mouth shut anyway. After a while, he felt calmer. Like the danger had really passed and Lydia was going to be just fine. With a shuddery breath, he let himself relax like a plate full of jello, all wobbly and jiggly and completely willing to go with the flow.

They walked into the house were met with the Maitlands and the Deetz in the dining room, talking calmly amongst themselves. Adam and Barbara turned in their chairs, smiling at Lydia and Beetlejuice as they shuffled further into the house. Quickly, though, the smiles fell. Charles tensed in his chair, looking for all intents and purposes like a man trying to hold himself back from a _really_ good fight.

“Lydia,” he said cautiously. “What’s that on your sleeves.”

Lydia blinked and looked at the green cloth before returning her gaze to her father. “Beej tried to make like… bandages. Not sure he knows how they work.”

Barbara was out of her chair in an instant, rushing to Lydia to hold her arm and look at the green bandages. “ _Bandages_?” She repeated, clearly upset. “Are you hurt? Is it bad? Are you bleeding?”

Beetlejuice cocked his head to the side. “Easy, Babs, they’re just little pokes.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Charles shouted as he stood from the table so fast his chair screeched against the floor and the tableware rattled. Beetlejuice startled, looking at him with wide eyes. He didn’t like it when people shouted at him. He _definitely_ didn’t like it when that person had authority. Marching across the room, Charles stood in front of him and shouted, “That’s my little girl!”

“Y… yeah, I know that,” Beetlejuice sputtered.

“And you have brought her home _injured_!” His voice was grating. Burning. Beetlejuice felt very, very small. It felt like Juno was yelling at him. He’d screwed up. He’d _saved_ Lydia… but he’d screwed up. They were going to make him face the consequences. They were going to make him leave. Charles glared at him, and Beetlejuice trembled a little under the stare. “Beetlejuice, I’m allowing you into _my_ house, out of the goodness of my _heart_ , and you bring home my daughter _hurt_ and _bandaged._ This is a _gross_ misuse of my trust. Give me _one_ good reason I shouldn’t make you leave, right now!”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth, tried to think of a joke. Maybe about sex. Maybe about death. He couldn’t think of one. All he could think of was the fire in Charles’ eyes. The anger that was so reminiscent of Juno, it hurt. So he simply gaped, leaning back as far as he could without falling while he struggled for words. Charles didn’t take that well.

“So there _is_ no reason to keep you here?” He asked, his voice still raised and sharp.

Beetlejuice flinched and looked around the room for something to help him. Something he could use to protect himself. He could set the ceiling on fire… no, that would hurt Lydia. Make the floor swallow Charles? No, Lydia would be upset. He looked around, frantic… until he saw himself in one of the accent mirrors Delia had put on the wall. He saw… wide, scared eyes. A torn, old sweatshirt that was loose and baggy on him. He saw… white, white hair. Terrified. Bone-white and a dead giveaway.

“Beetlejuice!” Charles shouted, “Look at me when I’m _talking_ to you!”

Beetlejuice turned to him so sharply, he felt his neck crack. He couldn’t stay here. He wasn’t safe. Charles was _just_ like Juno. He would shout. He would throw Beetlejuice across the room. He would look at Beetlejuice’s hair, sneer, and say: _“I’ll give you something to cry about.”_

“Dad, stop!” Lydia said, her voice faraway and drowning beneath Beetlejuice’s thoughts. “You’re scaring him!”

“He’s a demon!” Charles snapped as he glared at Beetlejuice. “This is _serious_. How can I trust a man—demon— _thing_ when he can’t even keep one girl safe?”

“Stop it! He _tried_!” Lydia cried, pushing herself out of Barbara’s protective embrace to grab her father’s arm and pull him back. Not enough. It wasn’t _nearly_ enough to make Beetlejuice feel safe. Still, she looked up at her father, desperate for him to hear her as she said, “He saved me!”

“Lydia! Stay out of this!” Charles shouted as he gave Lydia a push that made her stumble back several steps. Beetlejuice’s brain froze. The house went uncomfortably quiet. Charles took deep, huffing breaths, and Beetlejuice couldn’t feel his face. This place… it really _wasn’t_ safe. They really didn’t want him here. Before Charles could reach out and throttle him, Beetlejuice disappeared.

With any luck, he wouldn’t have to come back.


	3. Amendments II

Beetlejuice remembered sharp things from his youth. Sharp claws, sharp words, sharp edges of the desk when he was pushed away. He remembered the _snick-snack-snick_ of his mother’s fingernails on an old, worn desk. He remembered hiding between the filing cabinets when she was in a bad mood. He remembered… well, he remembered everything. It was the bad thing about being a born-dead. He was immediately dubbed an immortal… and his memory was flawless. As flawless as a demon could be, anyhow.

He didn’t _like_ remembering these things, but they were in his brain for better or worse. Mostly for the worst, though. He hadn’t had a good panic attack in… well, since Lydia killed him. It hadn’t been the death that scared him, though. It was what came after, when his mother came to find him.

Juno had never been a pleasant woman. From what Beetlejuice knew, she’d been around much, much longer than he had. So long that humans had modeled a Goddess in her name… the goddess of marriage and commitment. When he’d been young, Beetlejuice thought this meant that she was, in some way, still connected to his father. But no… no, she wasn’t. She was different. Different in every way except one: the Goddess Juno also had a nasty little habit of killing her children. Juno never killed him… but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

The power of a demon, especially one like Juno, was nothing to sneeze at; she could rearrange the very planes of the Netherworld, shuffle souls like they were playing cards, and tear the fabric of reality in her favor. And she wasn’t even cracking the top-ranks of demons.

The reason Beetlejuice thought of this, the reason he thought of _any_ of this, was because he was trying to figure out what the _hell_ was wrong with him.

In his hurry to get out of the Deetz household, he had thrown himself in the vague direction of the nearest Newly Dead. It was an old man, one that had been ushered out of life by close friends, family, and many, many children. Beetlejuice was shot into the room with such uncalibrated force, he slammed into the wall and knocked one of the framed pictures to the floor. The family looked at the wall, startled by the noise and the picture… and then saw him.

The screaming started immediately.

He covered his ears when the women screeched hysterically and the men jumped behind those same ladies for protection. He liked screams. Didn’t he? He liked the fear. The _rush_ of being seen. But while he was in a hurry to get away from the Deetz’s, he forgot that Lydia had said his name three times. He was visible, and that made this Guide job difficult.

Not that he was even in the mood for a Guide. Really, he wanted to curl into a teeny, tiny ball and wait until he felt less jittery. He felt bitter inside. He tasted metal on the tip of his tongue. People screamed, and he growled in frustration.

“ _Shut up!”_ He howled, looking around at the two-dozen people clustered in a much-too-small living room. One man didn’t take well to the good-natured advice and raised his fist. He wanted to punch Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice didn’t give him a chance to land a hit. He sent himself away from that place… but where? He didn’t know. He didn’t know where to go.

Someplace safe. The last place he really felt comfortable. The last place he was safe from Juno… Juno and Charles. They were alike, weren’t they? The shouting, the anger in their eyes. It was all so familiar. So familiar, he expected the pain to come next. The sharpness that he remembered so vividly. He closed his eyes tight and curled in on himself. Wherever he ended up, he was in a tight spot. That was fine. The pressure of everything around him felt a little smothering… but nothing was going to get him here in the dark, warm place he’d manifested.

Until he heard the footsteps. He wrenched his eyes open, body still shaking as he looked around. He was… under a bed. An old bed, by the looks of it. He looked to the side, and he saw dusty shelves and old, unread books. In the corner, a small table was tucked away with a small-scale town sitting atop it. Hanging on the wall was… a chalkboard. A chalkboard with a list of House Rules. He blinked… and then frowned. He was back in the Deetz house, in the attic.

With the way he was panicking, he wanted to leave… he wanted to run. Maybe to punch something. To scream and bite and tear… but not Charles. Not Juno. No, he was scared. Scared enough to be violent… but he doubted he’d get the chance to strike. Juno never gave him the chance. Curling in on himself a little tighter, Beetlejuice kept one eye on the doorway as Adam and Barbara walked up and into the attic.

Adam closed the door. Beetlejuice could only see their legs from this angle, and he watched Adam’s penny loafers moved across the floor in short, clipped steps. If Beetlejuice didn’t know him so well, he might say he was _upset_. But no, that wasn’t Adam. He was just nervous. Barbara stood by the wall… Beetlejuice couldn’t see what she was doing. The hem of her dress fluttered as her weight shifted from foot to foot. Neither spoke for a minute, and Beetlejuice caught his breath.

They were quiet. They were boring as hell. They wouldn’t hurt him. They wouldn’t hurt _anyone_ … so he was safe. He was safe with the Maitlands. With the door closed, hopefully that would be a sign to Charles that he wasn’t welcome. Beetlejuice let out a long, relieved breath that rattled around unused, cold lungs.

“We… should we have done something?” Adam asked, his feet pausing their little pacing journey to face Barbara. “Should… should we have stopped him, or…?”

Barbara’s feet stepped back, leaning her against the wall, and her words stumbled. “Well… what… what would we have said?” She wondered softly as her short heels took her to the small, model town in the corner. There, Beetlejuice could see all of her from the fall of her curling hair to the pivot of her hips as she looked down at little painted roofs and fake trees. She turned to look at Adam, all worried eyes and deep-set frowns. “Charles _was_ in the right. Lydia came home hurt.”

“And I _hate_ that,” Adam agreed as he stepped toward her. This blocked Beetlejuice’s view… but he could see Adam’s back and down to his fine ass. A calming sight… if not for the libido-dampening khakis. He watched as Adam carefully cradled Barbara’s face in his gentle, delicate hands and said, “I _hate_ that Lydia was hurt… but you saw Beetlejuice. She wasn’t the only one who got hurt.”

There was shuffling… and then Barbara said, “He looked pretty awful _before_ the shouting began.” Silence stretched between them, and Adam stepped away, resuming his pacing while Barbara leaned her hip against the table. “What do you think happened to them?”

Adam approached the bed – Beetlejuice stiffened and made himself impossibly smaller, using ay demonic power he could muster to make himself flat and undetectable – and sat down. “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s a demon, though. I can only imagine the kind of trouble they had to be in for _him_ to be hurt.”

Barbara stared in his direction for a long, long time. Her eyes said something… but it was all lost on Beetlejuice. He couldn’t read cues. Wrapping her arms around herself, Barbara gave herself a hug as she said, “His shirt was all cut up. And those pajama pants…”

“Lydia won’t tell her father where the cuts came from,” Adam said softly. A pause, and then he said, “Do… you don’t think she’d tell me, do you?”

Barbara shrugged, her arms still tight around herself. “Maybe. It’s worth a try.”

While Adam stood and went to the door, Barbara stayed put. He paused, walking to her slowly enough to put hand on her arm and say, “Are you alright?”

Barbara shrugged again. “I just… it felt like it was going to be okay. That he… you know when we first met Beetlejuice, he scared the heck out of us?”

“Of course.”

“And you remember… you remember the first time he left us? When you said you hoped he’d find help?”

Beetlejuice blinked; he didn’t know Adam said that. It was a predictably uplifting and Adam-y thing to say, but he hadn’t _expected_ it. Adam remembered perfectly and said, “Yeah, I do.”

Barbara banished her eyes to the floor, looking like someone who was trying very, very hard to keep the tears in her eyes where they belonged. “I don’t know. I thought… that here, with the rules, it would help him. He’s still inappropriate, still a little kooky, but… it’s not scary. He’s more _funny_ than anything. A little endearing, you know?”

Adam touched her cheek and she leaned into the touch. “I know what you mean.” They were quiet for a long, discomforting moment, and Adam said, “Jeez… talking about this, I feel… I don’t know. I feel like we somehow… _failed_ him. I should have stepped-in when Charles started yelling.”

“ _I_ should have,” Barbara insisted.

“We?” Adam asked.

“We.” Barbara nodded.

Beetlejuice wasn’t sure _how_ , but that apparently meant they had reached some sort of consensus. Adam kissed her and went to the door, probably on his way to find Lydia, and Barbara followed him all the way to the door, where she lingered on the top step. She let Adam go ahead, turning to look at the bed. Beetlejuice froze. She was staring at him. _Directly_ at him, and he wasn’t surprised. She _knew_ he’d been there. For a fraction of a second, he considered sending himself back to the newly-dead old man’s house, just to escape the wrath of a Maitland spied-upon.

But she didn’t look mad. In fact, she looked a little sad. With her hand resting heavily on the doorknob, she cocked her head to the side and murmured, “Have you been up here the whole time?”

Beetlejuice hesitated. “No.”

“Are you going to come out?”

“Of the closet?” He asked weakly. “I’m a proud pansexual, Babs. Is that an invitation?”

Barbara gave him that sad, pitying smile, and Beetlejuice felt his chest squeeze bitterly. “No, it’s not.” She glanced at the stairs… and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind her.

The silence stretched out, seconds into minutes and minutes into hours. For a long time, she let the quiet settle, like an old, musty blanket taken out of storage. It needed time to breathe, and Beetlejuice – against all insistence he would make against it – appreciated the time she gave for him to collect himself. After five minutes of quiet, Beetlejuice felt like himself again. Angry, horny, and irritably soft, just as he should be.

Leaning back against the door, Barbara rocked on her heels and softly said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking awesome,” Beetlejuice snapped.

With a sweep of her arm, Barbara tapped a knuckle against the chalkboard with the House Rules. “Rule number seven. If you’re troubled, talk to someone.” She paused, catching a glimpse of Beetlejuice’s dark stare under the bed. “Don’t keep it to yourself.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re upset.”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes and shifted where he was smooshed under the bedframe. “But, like… why do you _care_?”

With a hint of hesitation, Barbara walked over to the bed and sat down to the floor, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her as she adjusted her dress to cover her knees. “Your hair was… it was bright white, Beetlejuice. I’ve never seen it like that.” Beetlejuice looked away, staring at the springs in the bedframe while Barbara murmured, “You were scared. I’ve never seen you actually scared.”

“Sure you have.” It was a bitter statement. No room for argument. But Barbara argued. Of _course_ she did.

“Beetlejuice—”

“You saw my mom,” he said, looking at her again. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, and Beetlejuice sighed. “You’ve seen me scared, Babs.”

Barbara was quiet for a moment, looking at him with tired eyes that were too kind to be true. After a long minute, she said, “Maybe we should make a new rule.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What is it? ‘No hiding under the bed like a goddamn boogeyman?’”

Though Barbara cracked a smile at that, she shook her head and folded her hands primly in her lap. “No yelling during disagreements. Something like that.” She paused, ducking her chin to really meet his eye as she said, “Would you like that?”

Beetlejuice felt that weird, bitter tug in his chest again. Someone alive had said his name… and it was jumbled up with the weird feelings he was having. Barbara looking at him like that, all gentle and warm, her offer so genuine and heartfelt… he blinked, feeling his bottom lip tremble as he said, “Yeah,” and _dammit_ , his voice cracked, “I’d like that.”

The door of the attic opened and shut quickly, and Adam stepped inside with wide eyes. “ _Okay_. I talked to Charles. But you will not _believe_ what happened to Lydia and Beetlejuice—”

“Adam,” Barbara said calmly, effectively cutting him off. He stared at her, and she indicated to the door. He closed it, and she said, “Beetlejuice is here.”

He spun in a circle – _adorable –_ and looked baffled when Beetlejuice didn’t appear. “He is? Where? Is he alright? Is he upset?”

Beetlejuice threw his voice around the room, making it echo ominously as he said, “ _He is everywhere, watching you at_ any _conceivable moment. Also those ugly pants make your ass look amazing.”_

While Adam put his hands on his hips and frowned, Barbara giggled and said, “It’s true! Those are your best pair.”

“Barbara!” Adam squeaked as he backed himself against the wall, somehow trying to hide his butt from view. That was enough to make Beetlejuice laugh, and he reappeared on top of the bed, looking over at Adam with bedroom eyes.

“Own your sexiness, you boring bastard.”

Adam gestured to the board. “No unwelcome sexual advances!”

Beetlejuice blinked. “I can’t even say you’re sexy?” He pulled out a dagger and plunged it into his chest. It hurt like a bitch, but it was dramatic enough for him to say, “ _God,_ what is the point of _not-living_ if I can’t tell you guys how stupidly _sexy_ you are?”

With a hint of confusion, Adam blinked and said, “You’re… you’re not going to pinch me? Or… dip me back and kiss me again?”

Beetlejuice blinked. “Adam. I’m a demon. I’m a monster. I can follow rules – I don’t _like_ to, but I can follow them.”

There was a long, interesting pause, and Adam murmured, “I just said that same thing to Charles.” Beetlejuice stared at him blankly, and Adam smiled that weary, nervous smile of his. “Oh, I… I went to see Lydia. Just to check-in, and—”

“Is she okay?” Beetlejuice was up and off the bed, crowding Adam’s personal space and backing him up against the wall. “Is she mad at me? Are the scratches bad? _Is she okay_?”

Adam put his hands on Beetlejuice’s chest, keeping him at bay as he said, “Those are several questions. Let me answer _one_ at a time.” When Beetlejuice took a step back, Adam said, “She’s taking a shower to wash off all the dust from rolling around in that house. Which, by the way, was ridiculous. I don’t know why you encourage her.”

Shrugging, Beetlejuice stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt… only to realize there was a giant, gaping hole in it from the half-dead’s fingernails. He wiggled a few fingers in the gap and muttered, “She wanted to go, and I wanted to hang out with her. Besides, if there was a breather in there, I could scare ‘em off.” He paused, then mumbled, “Just wasn’t expecting the, uh…”

Adam softened at that. “Lydia told me. Beetlejuice,” he said, earning a look from the demon in question. His hazel eyes were so careful, like he had to be mindful of how long he looked at Beetlejuice. A second too long, and he’d vanish. The stare held, and Beetlejuice wanted to reach out and smother that look on his face. He could kiss him, force his eyes closed so he couldn’t _look_ at him like that… with all those _feelings_. Before Beetlejuice could act on impulse, Adam wrapped his arms around Beetlejuice’s shoulders and pulled him in for a tight, shaking embrace. “That thing could have killed her. Thank you.”

He said it with that shaky, breathy voice. Beetlejuice hugged him back with vigor, eager to soak in the experience while he could. The touch almost _burned_ it was so satisfying. Adam’s chest, firm and solid against his own. His arms around his shoulders, strong and holding him tight. His body still smelling of the same deodorant he used before he died. Adam held him and shuddered out the words, “ _Thank you_.”

Beetlejuice could only say, “Don’t mention it,” while his voice broke through every word.

+++++

_Twenty Minutes Earlier_

Adam walked down the stairs, glancing back to see that Barbara was waving him on. Maybe she didn’t want to see Lydia. No, that didn’t make sense… they both loved Lydia. She probably just didn’t want to overwhelm her. Adam melted at that thought; he was married to the most wonderfully smart and considerate woman. When they had first met, Beetlejuice asked him “How did you do it? How did you get her to marry you?” And, honestly, Adam was still asking _himself_ that question.

For all intents and purposes, he never thought their school romance would amount to anything. He never knew his high-school sweetheart would become his college sweetheart. He never expected that they would enter a polygamous relationship with a third person, Lucas Dames, and that it wouldn’t work out. He didn’t realize that Barbara would stay with him through a house, a yard, a minivan… and for them to lose their lives before they could have a child. How did he get Barbara to marry him? Please, he was still wondering what such a wonderful woman saw in him… aside from good table manners.

But this was a separate topic. He descended to the second floor, seeing Delia and Charles talking amongst themselves on the first-floor landing. Pursing his lips, he went to Lydia’s bedroom door. It was open just a crack, like she was waiting for someone to come knocking… but he doubted it was _him_ that she wanted to see. She probably wanted Beetlejuice, but without forcefully summoning him (which was against the House Rules) it was unlikely that he would come waltzing through the door anytime soon.

Lowering himself a little, he knocked on the door quietly. The door opened a bit more, revealing Lydia where she was tucked away against the headboard of her bed. Lydia lifted her head from where she buried her face in her knees, looking at him darkly from across the room as Adam said, “Knock, knock!” Lydia blinked slowly, her eyes tired despite the early hour of the afternoon. When she looked away, it was a resigned action. Adam frowned, “Can I come in?”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s _your_ house.”

“It’s your house, too,” Adam said softly as he stepped into the room. Lydia didn’t look at him, choosing to glare down at those darn ripped tights of hers that _had_ to be cold in early-winter… but he didn’t comment on that. He touched the black quilt on the bed and softly said, “Can I sit with you for a little bit?” Lydia shrugged. He sat. For a moment, they were both quiet, simply enjoying the silence of each other while reality hung over them like a dark cloud. After a minute of that quiet, Adam looked to her and said, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged a bit and he leaned forward to catch her downturned gaze. She met him halfway… then looked away. “We’re all just _worried_ about you, Lydia. We want to know what happened.”

“He didn’t have to yell,” Lydia said bitterly.

“I know.”

“He… he made BJ’s hair go _totally white,_ Adam.” She looked at him desperately, and Adam nodded sympathetically. “I’ve _never_ seen it do that.”

“I know,” Adam repeated softly as he put a hand on her back and gave her a gentle pat. She took a deep, shuddery breath and scrubbed at her face angrily. Maybe trying to wipe away tears. Maybe to get rid of the anxious blush that bloomed on her cheeks. Adam wasn’t sure… but he knew that something… _something_ had happened to her and Beetlejuice. “Lydia, honey, please. Just… can you tell me?” She looked at him, and he reiterated, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Wrapping her arms around her legs and pulling them close, Lydia spoke into the fabric of her dress, soft and scratchy despite her dry eyes. “I just wanted to check out the house on Faulkner Drive.”

Adam pulled a face. “The house at the bottom of the hill?” Lydia nodded, and he narrowed his eyes. “That house has been empty since before we moved in, and that was… well, Barbara and I died in 1988, so—”

“Yeah, it’s been empty forever,” Lydia mumbled crossly, her eyes trained on the baseboard on the far wall. “I just wanted to go and check it out, ya know? Like… if there were squatters or something, Beej could scare them.” Adam nodded encouragingly, and Lydia went on. “We got in, I took pictures, they had a cool chandelier-thing… Beej ate some mold, I took a picture of it—”

“ _What_?”

“—and then we went upstairs,” she said, a certain tone of meaning behind the statement. “We looked around, took some more pictures… but when we got to the master bedroom…”

Adam winced. “There was someone there.”

After a fraction of thought, Lydia shook her head. “Not… _someone_ … more like a… some _thing_. It was… god, it was so creepy. Like, I _love_ creepy, but… actually seeing it was…” she shivered a bit and Adam rubbed her back soothingly. After a few passes, she was able to whisper, “It was like looking… at a skeleton. With the skin just… stretched over the bones. It moved and it… had those claws and the _teeth_ …”

Adam grimaced and looked at the makeshift green bandages on Lydia’s arms. “And it attacked you? And Beetlejuice just… didn’t stop it?”

“No!” Lydia snapped, and when she saw the startled look on his face, she muttered, “Sorry, I just… the first time it jumped at me, he pushed me out of the way. If he hadn’t been there… I probably wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” Adam felt a little queasy, if such a thing were possible. Lydia continued with, “He said it was… uh… do you know the movie _Poltergeist_?”

“Oh, I do… it was popular with the guys I went to college with. I was never really good with scary movies, but—” he paused, saw the expectant look on Lydia’s face, and he nodded. “Yes. I do.”

“Beej said… he said that… _whatever_ that thing was, it was basically a poltergeist. He got it to back off for a second, and… and I wasn’t thinking. I took a picture. I just… it was like a knee-jerk thought. ‘I need a picture.’ And… it jumped at me again,” Lydia’s eyes went a little wide as she stared through Adam and into whatever memory she had of the attack. “It… it _grabbed_ me, and…”

“Lydia,” Adam said, his voice cracking on her name as his hand gripped her back. When she fell into him, her head on his shoulder, he didn’t pull away. He held her there, his hand cradling the back of her head as he took a deep breath that he didn’t need. “I’m… good _lord,_ I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Beetlejuice…” Lydia sniffled after a moment. “He wasn’t fast enough to _stop_ it, but… Beej… he saved me. He just grabbed the thing and _threw it_. I thought it was going to kill me. I thought… but it got him, too. It scratched at him and… and he didn’t _look_ hurt, but you _know_. You _know_ it hurt.” She looked up at Adam and desperately said, “He _saved_ me, Adam. And then my dad just… screamed at him. Did you see his face? Did you _see_ Beej’s expression? His hair?”

Adam nodded calmly and gave her a comforting pat on the back. “I did. But we can’t change what already happened. We just need to hike up our pants and move forward.”

Through the immense tension, Lydia snorted. “ _Hike up our pants_.”

Smiling at that, Adam gave Lydia a gentle, sideways hug. She accepted it, her small hands fisting in his plaid shirt and holding on for dear life. Adam rubbed her back again, trying to loosen the tension in her tiny shoulders. “I’ll talk to your father. I’m sure he was just upset that you were hurt… you’re his little girl. Of _course_ he’d be upset that you were hurt.”

“But… Beetlejuice—”

“Yes, we’ll talk about him, too.”

Lydia’s fingers picked at his shirt while she thought. “And the yelling?”

Adam nodded. “We’ll talk about the yelling.”

“Okay,” Lydia pulled back and scrubbed at her cheeks, trying to erase the tracks that tears had left there. After calming breath, she nodded and said, “This is nice.” Adam cocked his head to the side curiously, and Lydia gestured to him. “Having another dad, I mean.”

Letting out a laugh, Adam rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “Well… I never thought I’d have a chance to have a daughter. Especially not in my afterlife.” He smiled and reached out to swipe at a stray tear that rolled down her cheek. “It’s an honor to be your second father-figure.”

Sniffling a little, Lydia gave him a tired smile and unfolded her legs to dangle them over the edge of the bed. “I think… I think I want to take a shower. Wash off all the dust.”

Adam nodded and gave her ‘bandages’ a meaningful look. “You’ll want your father or Delia to help disinfect those and redo the bandages.”

While Lydia gathered her bathrobe and towel, Adam slipped out of the room and into the hall. He didn’t get far, though. Delia and Charles were waiting for him on the stairs, effectively startling him when he turned around to face face-to-face with a _very_ curious Delia.

“Good _heavens_!” He hissed as he held a hand to his non-beating heart. “I’m supposed to be the ghost. _I’m_ supposed to be scaring _you!”_

Delia waved a hand at that and peeked around him to give Lydia’s door a long stare. “She _talked_ to you. What did she say? Did she tell you what happened?”

Adam frowned… but nodded. “Yes. Yes, she did; and I think we need to have a talk.” Leading them down the stairs and to the living room, Adam sat down in the loveseat and rested his elbows on his knees. “I think we need to understand that, yes, Lydia came home injured—”

“While under Beetlejuice’s care!” Charles snapped. Adam held up a hand to make him take a pause.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean the injuries were Beetlejuice’s fault.” He frowned and let out a breath before he said, “From what Lydia told me, they were attacked by some sort of… undead monster. It jumped at her and Beetlejuice managed to keep her out of harm’s way on the first swing.”

Delia put a hand over Charles’ as she said, “And… the second swing?”

Adam licked his lips. “Apparently, Lydia took a picture of the thing on impulse. That must’ve _provoked_ the thing, because Beetlejuice wasn’t able to catch it before it jumped at her.” Looking up, he saw Charles’ eyes were stricken with grief and pain while Delia looked a little dazed where she sat, like all of the supernatural nonsense wasn’t clicking while a _ghost_ was sitting in front of her. He digressed… and returned to the topic at hand. “Beetlejuice saved Lydia’s life today, and I think that we, as a household, may have done a poor job of recognizing that.”

Charles’s jaw worked a bit before he rumbled, “You mean _I_ did a poor job of that.”

Adam gave him a sorry smile. “No, I think we all assumed the worst. Beetlejuice is a wild card. You can’t always expect him to do the most rational thing… but, we do know that he loves Lydia. She’s his closest friend. He wouldn’t intentionally let any harm come to her.” He paused, and said, “He stepped between Lydia and his own _mother_ , for heaven’s sake… how could we forget that?”

“I didn’t,” Delia said numbly. “I still remember the giant snake.”

“Sandworm,” Adam corrected pleasantly. He looked back to Charles. “I’m not saying one person is to blame for what happened. You were in the right to be upset. But maybe… maybe we could have done things differently. Discussed instead of accused, so to speak.”

Nodding a bit, Charles folded his hands together and huffed. “I know. I _know_ he cares for Lydia. I was just… I saw the bandages. I saw she was hurt and for a moment… for a moment, I thought of Emily. I thought of all the hospital visits and the blood-transfusions and the bandages on her arms, and—” he paused, reaching blindly for Delia. She took his hand and held it tight, her expression painfully sympathetic as he said, “I’m not ashamed to say I was… _horrified_ when I saw she was hurt.”

“She’s your daughter,” Adam said softly. “Like I said, you have every right to be upset about her being injured. But Beetlejuice didn’t let it happen lightly. He’s a demon, not a monster.”

Charles hung his head and sighed. “I shouldn’t have shouted the way I did.” He glanced at Delia, and she nodded encouragingly. “I saw the way his hair changed to that… that bright white. His face… he was _terrified_ of me.” He looked to Adam. “Did I really sound that horrifying?”

Blinking a few times, Adam glanced down at his hands. _Had_ Charles sounding frightening? Yes, he had been intimidating. Yes, he had been loud. And _yes_ , Adam dislike confrontation. But did that make Charles Deetz _horrifying_ in that moment? No, it probably didn’t. Not to Adam at the very least.

“No, I don’t think you were… but Beetlejuice was definitely scared.” He thought about this for a moment, trying to dig back through the hazy time he spent with Beetlejuice. “Come to think of it… _he_ shouted at us. He always apologized, but… we never shouted at him. The only person I saw shout at him was—” he closed his eyes and let out a breath. “It was _Juno_.”

Delia held a hand to her lips. “Oh… _oh_. _That’s_ what that energy was.” Charles gave her a baffled look, and she said, “Well, I gave him a piece of jade to hold and… well, I think it resonated with him. Troubled emotional energy was in there.” She looked at Charles and pat his arm a little, trying ease the look of utter distress on his face. “Charles, you had _no idea_ that shouting was an issue. But now you do. We can _learn_ from this.”

While Delia and Charles nodded in agreement, Adam tapped his knees and stood up. “Okay… I think I’m going to go back up to the attic. Barbara’s still up there and I think she’ll want to know what happened.” Charles and Delia gestured for him to go, and Adam paused on the stairs, glancing back to say, “If Beetlejuice comes back, please tell us. We should all talk about what happened.”

“Yes,” Charles said sternly. “I think we should.”

+++++

“You know what I’m curious about?” Adam asked where he was hunched over his small replica of the town, dabbing at one of the roofs with a teeny tiny paintbrush. Beetlejuice looked up from Barbara’s hands – she was working on sewing his hoodie back together with those nimble, delicate fingers of hers – and made an interested noise. Adam sat up and looked at him. “What exactly is _keeping you_ from the Netherworld? I mean… Lydia went through when she was _alive,_ so the doorway obviously doesn’t discriminate.”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow at that. The doorway didn’t discriminate. That made him think of the possibility of racist doors. And interesting thought. But that wasn’t the point. He sat back against the headboard of the Maitland’s bed, his hands folded over his stomach as he sighed, “My mom, probably. Not a big mystery there.”

Barbara looked up from her sewing to give him a look. “But… you… the sandworm. I thought that—”

Beetlejuice waved that away as he fiddled with the cuffs of his striped button-up shirt. His shoes were pressing against Barbara’s hip, nudging her gently as he said, “Yeah, Sandworms eat ghosts. But my mom is a _demon_. It fucked up her physical form… but it regenerates.” He paused and twiddled his thumbs for a bit. “Pretty sure she came back and decided to lock me out. She’s strong enough to pull that kind of shit.”

Adam took off his glasses and made an interesting face. “So, you’re saying that scary old lady is able to _lock you out_ of the Netherworld? Just… bounce you back like—”

Beetlejuice went a little rigid and held up a hand. “Hold that thought, hot stuff.”

Adam compliantly shut his mouth and Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes at the flood of energy that rushed into his mind. There was a Newly Dead that needed a Guide. Why was he being dropped all of these summonses? He had better things to do than Guide some crotchety, angry old guy through the door. He could be staring at Adam while he painted or bothering Barbara while she sewed. So many _better_ uses of his time… but he huffed and frowned.

“I’ve got a job,” he said bluntly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Adam blinked in surprise, and Barbara looked a little confused, but Beetlejuice didn’t mind as he scratched a hand through his hair. “I know you’re going to be _devastated_ without me, but I’ll be back in a hot minute.”

Barbara glanced down at the sweatshirt in her hands. “I’m not finished yet,” she said before she looked up at him. “You’ll be cold without this or your jacket.”

“Wow, mother-hen much?” Beetlejuice flourished a hand and he was dressed in his striped suit, coat and all. Once he was all put together, Barbara looked satisfied. With a low chuckle, Beetlejuice said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d thank you were _worried_ about me, Babs.”

“Well,” Barbara said calmly. “You _are_ staying in our house.”

“We’re technically roommates,” Adam agreed gently. “It’s normal to be concerned for a regular part of your daily life.”

“Daily _after_ life,” Beetlejuice corrected. Adam laughed at that, and Beetlejuice grinned. “Got to go.”

With a snap, he was gone. He emerged somewhere on the west coast. High up, maybe on the coast of Washington state. Barbara was right; it was cold. Not that it bothered him.

The old geezer had died on a bark bench. Just nodded off while looking out at the sea, sitting among the cold air that rushes off the waves and goes right through someone. And there he sat, still thinking he was alive… staring at the waves.

Beetlejuice walked up behind him, hands his pockets and tote bag slung over his shoulder. “Nice view,” he mumbled. The Newly Dead looked at him, frowned, and turned away.

“Mind your own business,” the Newly Dead grumbled before adding, “That’s a terrible suit.”

Beetlejuice plucked a piece of chalk from his pocket and tossed it in the air a couple of times, catching it absently as he looked down at the old man. “Yeah. No shittier than your attitude, Pops.”

The Newly Dead glared at him and – after a bit of struggling – managed to stand up and poke him in the chest. “You should _respect_ your _elders_. I’ll have you know I served in three wars. What have _you_ done?”

Beetlejuice didn’t lose his smile. “I took all those lost souls to the Other Side, Pops. You killed people. Great job. You think that makes you special?”

“You think your… your… _green hair_ makes you _special_?” The Newly Dead snapped. Beetlejuice shrugged and fluffed his hair up a bit.

“Not really. But it makes me sexy though, doesn’t it?”

“Your generation doesn’t know respect,” the Newly Dead grumbled as he tugged at his coat and started to walk away. Beetlejuice followed him, eager to shove him through a doorway and have done with it. The old man glared at him. “You got some problem, boy? Homeless? I don’t have money. Leave me alone.”

“Actually, I’m staying with some friends. I’m just here to give you a bag.” Beetlejuice held out the tote bag for display, and the old man turned up his collar and shuffled a little faster. As fast as a tiny old man can go, which was just a little faster than a turtle wearing ankle-weights. Beetlejuice kept stride with him easily. “It’s a nice fucking tote bag,” he insisted, “Very chic. All the Newly Deads get one. Got some chocolate that you probably won’t eat, a bath bomb that you _definitely_ won’t use, and a nice book that you’ll say is ‘Not as good as books in my day’ or some old-timey crap.”

“What the hell are you on about?” The old man snapped, trying to push Beetlejuice away with a feeble arm. Behind them, people were beginning to stare at the old man’s body that was still on the bench and unmoving. It was only a matter of time before they called an ambulance. Beetlejuice kept with the old man on his little trek along the park walkways, and Newly Dead _didn’t like it_. “Stay away from me. I’ll call the police!”

“Sure, sure,” Beetlejuice nodded calmly. “You can try. They won’t hear you, but you can try.”

“Is that a _threat_?”

“Nah. Just saying.”

Beetlejuice walked a few paces in front of him. He was tired of this. He wanted to go back to where it was warm, the wind didn’t bite him, and breathers didn’t look at him like a crazy-guy talking to no one. It was nice that people saw him, but if they couldn’t see the old man… he looked even more unusual. With the chalk in hand, Beetlejuice drew a doorway on the ground.

The old man stopped in his tracks, staring down at the outline incredulously. When Beetlejuice knocked on the concrete three times, a door swung open and a woman nearby screamed. A door opening up in the middle of a sidewalk? Yeah, that would scare people. The old man stared at the gap in the ground, wide-eyed and alarmed, and Beetlejuice grinned.

“End of the line, old-timer,” he shoved the tote bag against the old man’s chest, making sure he had a hold on it before he gave the old man a hard shove. He stepped forward, stumbled, and fell through the doorway with a hollow, echoing scream.

Beetlejuice smiled at the sound, ready to turn away and send himself back to the Deetz house… only to have a piece of paper shoot out of the doorway. He grabbed it, pulling it close and squinting at the message.

_Betelgeuse, your mother is trying to lock you out of the Netherworld. Still pissed off about the sandworm. Keep on your Guides. Maybe she’ll cool off and let you in after a decade. – Maria_

_PS – I need your signature for the Guides. xoxo_

Beetlejuice frowned at that and watched another piece of paper zip into the air. He took it, smooshed his thumbprint on the signature line, and leaned down to drop it back through the doorway. So he really _was_ stuck in the living world… and it would be for a while, from the sound of it. When the papers went through, the door let out a _shwoop!_ and swung shut, leaving a normal walkway in its place.

People were still alarmed and baffled. People were _staring_ at him. With a wicked grin, Beetlejuice smiled and snapped his fingers. Snakes appeared in a woman’s hair. She screamed and ran. A man looked down at his briefcase to see a clawed hand reaching out to grab him. He dropped the bag – and its corresponding laptop – on the ground and ran, hollering, in the opposite direction. Bats swung from the trees, working in tandem with the crows to peck and grab at people’s hair as they went low through the air. The chaos was beautifully noisy, and Beetlejuice nodded to himself.

A job well done.

With a thought, he was back in the attic of the Deetz house, sitting on the bed while Barbara and Adam were by the small model-town. When he landed on the bed, the springs creaked, alerting the ghosts to his presence. Barbara and Adam turned, smiled, and Beetlejuice felt a weird, sticky feeling wash over him. They were glad to see him. That would take getting-used to.

“You’re back,” Adam said bluntly, his glasses on top of his head and paint flecked on his fingers. Barbara helped wipe some away, kissing his left hand before moving onto the right one. Adam smiled at that before he glanced at Beetlejuice. “How did it go? You led them through the door? You didn’t keep them here, like you did with us, did you?”

Holding a hand to his chest in mock-offense, Beetlejuice clicked his tongue. “Adam, Adam, Adam… I am _shocked_ and _appalled_ you would think that of me. But he wasn’t as hot as you two, so I didn’t bother to make him stick around. Also, he was a major dick. Pretty sure that was his chain of command in the army. Major Dick.” Barbara snickered at that, and Beetlejuice grinned. “ _Yeah_ , I shoved him through the door.”

Adam gave him a knowing look, those eyes staring deep into him before he had a chance to shrug it off. “As much as we appreciate you being up here, telling us stories about Napoleon Bonaparte—”

“He was a _pussy_ and you can _quote me_ on that,” Beetlejuice snapped.

Adam went on as if he hadn’t said anything, “—I think Lydia is very worried about you. You two came home… what? Four hours ago? She hasn’t eaten any dinner. She won’t talk to her father.”

Barbara stopped wiping at Adams hands to frown and say, “I made her favorite fettuccini and she didn’t even take a bite.” She turned to Beetlejuice. “Adam spoke to Charles. You _know_ what Charles said… isn’t it time to come out of hiding?”

Frowning a little, Beetlejuice laid back on the be _harder_ , just to prove that he was comfortable right where he was. Adam rolled his eyes at this, but Barbara didn’t look swayed. In fact, she did that Tough Barbara thing and put her hands on her hips. She did that to Adam when he wouldn’t back down the seasoning of his bechamel sauce. Now it was aimed at Beetlejuice, her pink lips pursed and brow furrowed as she looked at him.

“Beetlejuice,” she said stonily.

“Babs,” he replied icily.

“You’re worrying Lydia.”

“You’re worrying my dick.”

Barbara’s composure broke and her face screwed up in confusion. “That… that doesn’t make sense.”

“A lot of stuff doesn’t make sense, Babs.” He spread his hands wide as he wiggled his feet on their nice, clean bedspread. “Might as well just… _go with the flow_.”

Now that Adam had his hands clean of paint, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “If you really want to go with the flow, you’ll go downstairs and talk to Mr. Deetz.”

Beetlejuice laughed out loud at that. “ _Mr. Deetz?_ What is he, your fucking teacher?”

Adam blushed at that, smoothing the front of his shirt and looking to Barbara for support. She pat his chest fondly, still looking at Beetlejuice as she said, “Don’t change the subject. We were all clearly rattled by what happened… and we were all emotional. All worked up. Now it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

Reaching under the blankets, Beetlejuice produced a hatchet and held it up. “But the hatchet is so nice and shiny, Babs. Why do we want to get rid of it?”

Raising her eyebrows expectantly, Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking Adam’s stance as she frowned at him. When she spoke, it was dark and angry with no room to argue. “ _Beetlejuice_.”

“Okay, okay!” Beetlejuice kicked himself off the bed and tossed the hatchet onto the floor. “God, no need to be all _pushy_.”

Nodding officially, Barbara waved him to the door, eager to follow him down the stairs – probably to make sure that he was _actually_ going to talk to Charles. “It’s for your own good.”

Turning on the stairs, Beetlejuice dropped to one knee and grabbed the hem of her thin, green dress. “Babs. You make me wanna be better. I’ll treat you good. Make you see stars every goddamn night. Marry me, baby.”

Adam peeked over her shoulder with a bewildered expression. “She’s _already married_ , Beetlejuice.”

Beetlejuice grinned up at him. “Don’t worry, Adam, you’re invited.” He stage-whispered to Barbara, “ _Unless you don’t want him to be.”_

Barbara stared down at him, a thin smile on her face as she slowly took his hands from her dress and said, “Don’t try to distract me. Go downstairs,” she paused, then added, “Please.”

“Well, holy shit, if you said _please_ ,” he droned with a roll of his eyes. He went down the stairs willingly, dragging his feet a little just to feel Barbara and Adam’s presence behind him, real and reassuring as he trudged down, down, down…

Charles was on the sofa with Delia, speaking with Lydia calmly. He’s voice was gentle, despite his tense expression, and Lydia… well, she looked better than the last Beetlejuice had seen her. Bundled up in a warm, black sweater and black, patterned leggings, she looked warm and cozy where she was curled up on the sofa with her knees held to her chest like a little protective barrier. Even if she looked like she needed to protect herself, she didn’t look upset. She just looked resigned.

When the stairs creaked under Beetlejuice’s weight, her head snapped up. She saw him. Her eyes flickered with excitement, and she rushed to the stairs, meeting him on the bottom step with a hug. Beetlejuice leaned back from the force of it, getting caught by Barbara’s ready hands before he could fall and crack his back on the stairs.

“ _Jesus_. Haven’t even been gone a whole day and _this_ is the welcome-back I get?”

Lydia peeled herself from him slowly, a pinched expression on her face. “I figured out why you smell moldy. It’s the coat.”

He glanced down at himself. Oh, yeah. He was wearing his suit again. Maybe he could wrestle that sweatshirt out of Barbara’s careful hands and messily stitch it back together himself. It didn’t need to be perfect – no matter _what_ Barbara said – and, according to Lydia, it must smell better. He opened his coat and flapped it, wafting his scent toward Lydia with vigor. “Oh yeah?” he teased as she reeled back in mock horror. “Do I _smell_ bad?”

When Lydia grabbed his hands, he held still, smiling down at her tiredly as she looked up at him. “I thought Dad scared you away.”

Beetlejuice twitched, but didn’t back away. Across the room, Charles worried his hands a bit, waiting for Beetlejuice’s response. “Yeah, well. Not a fan of the whole… raised-voices thing.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “That’s different from screaming… how?”

Ruffling Lydia’s hair, Beetlejuice stepped down onto the first-floor landing and looked to Charles. He was met with an expression of open and honest expectation. He was _waiting_ for Beetlejuice to snap, maybe to demand compensation for the misunderstanding. Beetlejuice didn’t really _need_ physical compensation, nor did he _want_ anything like that. He just pushed his hands into his pockets and said, “I want a new rule.”

Charles didn’t even flinch at the statement. “Alright. What would this rule entail?”

“If we’re gonna fight, I don’t want yelling,” Beetlejuice said stiffly, his fingers scratching at the lining of his old coat pockets. Charles nodded, and Beetlejuice felt a little tension go out of his shoulders. “The yelling just…” he didn’t have words for it.

How could he explain that his mother yelled at him like that all the time? How could he just say, without shame or embarrassment, that his mother was gladly screaming at him from the moment he was born? There weren’t words in his vocabulary to describe what was going through his head, but ‘bad’ and ‘sick’ came to mind. They weren’t enough though. It wasn’t nearly enough to describe what an argument with yelling invoked. It was… well, he would say it was hell, but he’d _been_ to hell, and it was _mild_ in comparison to his mother.

So he let his sentence hang in the air. He had no finish for it, and… apparently that was okay. Charles went to the coffee table, found the little paper where the original House Rules were written, and scribbled down a new rule. When he waved Beetlejuice over, he gestured to the rule.

  1. _Arguments in the Deetz household will be settled without shouting._



“Yeah.” Beetlejuice nodded with a slight smile. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Beetlejuice,” Charles said, giving Beetlejuice that sharp, shuddery tug under his ribcage. Their eyes met, and Charles’s jaw flexed a few times before he spoke. “I’d like to apologize. For how I reacted when the two of you came home this afternoon. I was—”

“Hey,” Beetlejuice said with a shrug. “Water under the bridge, Chuck. Let’s… I dunno. Forget about it.”

Charles nodded, scratching the back of his head a bit before he said, “This has been a… strange day. But!” He clapped his hands officially, “The two of you are safe, and that’s what matters. Mr. Juice… _thank you_ for keeping Lydia safe.”

“Seriously, the ‘Mr. Juice’ thing is…” Beetlejuice paused, shook his head, and laughed, “Nah, it’s not getting old. Probably never will.”

“Now, I know it’s late,” Barbara said as she put an arm around Lydia’s shoulder and steered her toward the kitchen. “But you didn’t eat dinner. Let’s warm up that fettucine and then put you to bed.”

“Put me to bed?” Lydia echoed incredulously, a sly smile on her face as Barbara fluttered her hands awkwardly. “I’m not two, Barb. I can stay up past 10 o’clock.”

“Yeah, Babs,” Beetlejuice said as he followed them into the kitchen, leaning on the center island as Barbara put a pile of noodles on a plate and put it into the microwave. Technology was weird. Little zapping things making stuff hot so people could eat it. Why couldn’t they just eat it cold? It was going to the same place anyway.

While he stood there, watching Barbara pour Lydia some milk, get her silverware, and _insist_ she needed a napkin, Lydia elbowed Beetlejuice. “Hey. You stink.”

He gave her a dark look. “I should’ve just _left_ you with that half-dead.”

“Yeah, well. You didn’t,” Lydia grinned, cracking his faux-anger and making him laugh. She continued to nudge him, and he responded with a shove to her shoulder. Soon they were slapping at each other enough to make Adam come into the kitchen and pull them apart.

“No fighting in the kitchen, please. There are sharp things in here.”

Lydia pursed his lips. “I could stab you again,” she offered with a gesture to the knife block. Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow, almost interested by the idea, before the microwave _beeped_ and Lydia bolted for the plate of warm noodles. She brought it back to the dining table where Barbara had set her a place, but when Beetlejuice sat next to her… she put her fork down. “Dude. You _stink_.”

Beetlejuice looked down at his suit; was it really that bad? He thought that ‘cologne’ stuff would last longer. Apparently not. “Not sure what you want me to do about that, kid.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed ‘what the fuck’ look. “Wash the suit, weirdo. I can’t eat with the smell of mold next to me.”

“Fine,” Beetlejuice said dramatically as he tipped his chair back and ran to the stairs, holding a hand over his face as he cried, “If you can’t love me and my mold, maybe I should go!”

“Bye,” Lydia said through a mouthful of pasta, only to have Adam and Barbara both say, “ _Don’t talk with your mouth full,”_ in unison right after.

Rolling his eyes, Beetlejuice pulled off his suitcoat and threw it over his shoulder like a movie star about to strut out of a personal trailer. “Fine. Gonna try one of those… ‘shower’ things.”

“Good luck with that,” Lydia said unenthusiastically. “I’m pretty sure if you try to get all the dirt off, there won’t be any of you left.”

“Rude,” Beetlejuice snapped as he fluffed up his hair and strutted up the stairs. Once he was safe and on the second floor, he went to the guest room, chucked his coat onto the floor, and worked on getting out of the rest of his suit. Maybe it could be washed… maybe it would fall apart before it could be properly cleaned. He had no idea. The thing was so damn old.

What _was_ nice, however, was turning on the shower and getting under the scalding hot water. It burned against cold, dead skin, kind of like a hug. He watched the water run brown for a while as he scrubbed at the dirt on his arms. Felt nice to have a layer of grime off after lounging in it for so long… this whole “living on the surface and having people see you” thing was going to be a challenge. It was nice to be noticed… but too many people staring felt kinda funny. Like he was going to catch fire if they stared too long. So, might as well wash up and try to be a _teeny tiny bit_ inconspicuous.

While he was scrubbing some kind of minty shampoo into his hair – it actually felt nice, he couldn’t lie about that – he heard a knock on the bathroom door. He didn’t stop scrubbing. _“Yeah?”_

“It’s Adam,” the ghost said from the other side of the door. “Barbara wanted me to bring up a towel and your pajama pants. She’s still working on the sweatshirt.”

Beetlejuice frowned and looked at a bottle of bodywash. What the hell was _bodywash_? Was it to clean his insides? He popped open the cap and took a drink. Tasted like soap. Not Good. Laundry sauce tasted better. Setting the ‘bodywash’ aside, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and said, “She doesn’t have to make it _perfect_. Does she know that? It’s just _me_.”

Adam’s laugh was almost lost underneath the rushing water. “She’s a crafty girl. It’s best to let her do it. She knows best.”

While he felt a warm, gooey feeling build up in his chest, Beetlejuice called, “Did you come in here to talk-up Babs, or were you hoping to join me in here?”

“Oh, no. No, thank you,” Adam said, more amused than alarmed by the suggestion. “Your towel and pajama pants are on the bed. I think Lydia’s going to sleep in a minute… Barbara and I will turn in soon, too.”

Beetlejuice swallowed a mouthful of hot water and gargled out, “You are _so_ boring going to bed this early.”

“Good _night_ , Beetlejuice.”

After that, Beetlejuice was alone, scrubbing at his dirty fingernails until he could see the black of the dead roots and the blue veins straining at the skin. With a smile, he turned off the shower and climbed out. There was a huge mirror sitting over the vanity, and he stared at himself. He was still soft. Still demon-y. But now his hair was heavy with water and hanging down in his eyes. Shaking his hair like a wet dog, he flung water around the room… but that wasn’t enough to make it fluff up.

He blinked; Adam left him a towel. Padding out to the bedroom – Adam had closed the door on his way out, that respectful motherfucker – Beetlejuice took the towel and furiously rubbed at his hair until the water in his ears leaked out and left him a little dizzy. Surprisingly, the pajama pants felt even _better_ after a hot shower. They were softer and warmer against clean skin that was still warm from the water. The towel was fluffy against his shoulders, and on the bed… was a shirt. Another one of Charles’ hand-me-downs it seemed. A simple, green shirt this time. Nothing fancy.

He pulled it on, marveling at this weird concept of “wow, being clean makes the fabric feel different.” After a bit more rubbing with the towel, he was able to look in the mirror and see his wild, fluffed-up plume of green hair. It had been a while since the cobwebs and dust – and possibly blood – had been washed out of it, and it looked… brighter. More neon-green than suburban-townhome-grass-clippings green. It made him feel shiny. He had to show someone. But who? Not the Maitlands. They wouldn’t be able to properly _appreciate_ his hair-washing discoveries.

It wasn’t midnight yet. He could still bother Lydia. So he slipped out into the hall. There, he could see her bedroom light illuminating the hallway. Downstairs, the sound of the evening news droned on about politics and global warming. Charles and Delia were still awake. Not that it really mattered. He slunk into Lydia’s bedroom and found her sitting on her bed, sorting through polaroid’s.

She wasn’t surprised to see him, though. In fact, she waved him over. “I got the stuff from the Faulkner house,” she said, showing him a picture of a ruined chandelier, a dimly lit hallway, and a picture of himself striking a pose next to a patch of black mold. She preened over the pictures, sorting them in order of preference as Beetlejuice watched, amused. “They came out pretty good.”

He pointed at the picture of himself. “This one’s my favorite.” Lydia snorted, and he blinked in recognition. “ _Lydia!”_ he shouted loud enough to make Lydia lean back a bit while he pointed at his hair, “Look! Look how fluffy it is.”

Lydia blinked a couple times, reaching out to give his hair a testing pat. “Yeah. Real… crazy and stuck-up. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?”

He rolled his eyes. “ _Yeah_ , but now it’s not sticky with spiderwebs or dry blood!”

“Dry blood?”

“Now it’s just… soft.” He patted his own hair, still marveling over this fact while Lydia watched him, amused. The sensation of soft hair under his fingers was nice. Almost addictively soothing. He continued to pet his hair while Lydia gathered up her pictures and went to tuck them away in her desk.

“Beej,” she said tiredly. “I’m going to bed.”

He groaned dramatically. “ _What_? The Maitlands are in bed, Charles is watching The Man on TV, and now _you’re_ going to sleep? What am I supposed to do?”

Lydia turned off her bedroom light and climbed under the covers. He could still see her perfectly as she snuggled down under the sheets, eager to hide from the on-coming winter chill while she could. Once she was comfortable, she let out a sigh.

“Dunno, Beej. What do you _want_ to do?”

He thought for a moment. “Heroin is an option.”

Lydia yawned. “Wasn’t that one of the House Rules? No drugs?”

Clicking his tongue a couple times, Beetlejuice flattened himself and crawled under Lydia’s bed, acting as a half-boogeyman for the second time in one day. “It’s not my fault breathers couldn’t see me for two-thousand years. Drugs stave off boredom.”

“Can’t remember what number rule it was,” Lydia said, almost like she was talking to herself. She yawned again, and the bed shifted as she snuggled into her pillows. Under the bed, Beetlejuice found an empty, purple backpack. It was small. Lavender. Not really Lydia’s _style_ … and, considering there was a black backpack hanging on her desk chair, she’d probably chucked _this_ backpack a while ago. Lydia’s voice was soft as she said, “Get out of my room.”

Pursing his lips, Beetlejuice pulled his stock of heroin and cocaine from his pockets and shoved them into the purple bag. If he _really_ got bored while the others were asleep, this could help pass the time. After all, demons had one _hell_ of a resistance to drugs. And, in turn, to addiction. That didn’t mean it wasn’t possible… it just meant it took _so much more_ for it to pack a punch. His mom had booze. He had cocaine. Bryon had marathon-sex. Everyone had a vice.

Frowning a little to himself, Beetlejuice rolled out from under Lydia’s bed and stood up straight. She had her back to him, already snuggled up and drifting off where she lay.

“G’night, kid,” he said as he shuffled back out into the hallway.

“Living room light ‘s on,” she mumbled lowly. “Close the door.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy…” Beetlejuice closed her door and wandered back to the guest room.

He _could_ have taken the purple backpack stash with him. He _could_ snort a few lines of coke and have a hell of a night all on his own. But something about the day was wearing at him… making him feel heavier and older than he already was. He was… tired? Yeah, that wasn’t a foreign concept. But he wasn’t in the Netherworld where warm beds were hard to come by and safe places to stay were scarcer. No, he had a bed waiting for him, plenty of blankets to burrow in, and something akin to a _guarantee_ that his mother wasn’t going to come looking for him. He was locked out. She was cutting ties – for a while, at least – and that meant he was free to kick back for a while.

So, with a contented smile, Beetlejuice ripped the blankets off his bed, arranged them in a loose circle, and burrowed himself in a cocoon of pillows and blankets. There was nothing to fear now. He was safe. The house was quiet… but not deathly-silent. He could hear the TV down on the first floor. He could hear Adam and Barbara walking around the attic getting ready for bed. Normal sounds. _Homey_ sounds. Sounds he could really get used to. Maybe, if he wanted to get mushy for a second, screaming wasn’t the most beautiful sound. It was this: the sound of the Deetz household winding down for the day. The calm, lax atmosphere of it. The floorboards under Adam’s feet and the sound of Barbara’s voice through the floor. The enthusiastic mumbling of commercials on the television and Delia telling Charles they needed to go to sleep… only to remain there for a while longer.

Beetlejuice smiled. It was a pretty nice sound, even if it was quiet. No excitement, no jokes, no flashing lights… just this. The only thing that would make it better would be both Maitlands tucked into the blankets with him. But they weren’t there. He made do with extra pillows on both sides of himself, burrowing deep, sighing happily, and letting himself finally go to sleep. After an exhausting day of life-threatening, arguing, hiding, and Guiding, he’d definitely earned it.


	4. Routines (and Lessons Learned Within)

Beetlejuice had somehow, _someway_ , fallen into a _routine_.

It was unplanned and unexpected, mostly for the fact that he was still welcome in the Deetz house. Still, time passed like always and his place in the guest room remained open and available to him. He hung out with Lydia, attempted to follow her to school multiple times, only to receive strange looks from adults when he walked through the doors. He spent time with the Maitlands, criticizing their model town for ridiculous reasons – and, for some reason, they took him _seriously_ – and liked to watch them fix it according to his comments. (This resulted in a pinstripe house of Beetlejuice’s design, and has been put on display in the living room.)

It wasn’t all fun and games, though. Sometimes he would wake up with a strange, prickly feeling in his lungs. A buzz of static electricity in his ears and a sense of despondence in the soles of his feet. Usually, this meant that Delia had spirited into his room, placed her ‘magical crystals’ somewhere inside, and it was a pain in the ass to find them and get rid of them – this commonly involved throwing the rocks back into her and Charles’ room or hiding them under the blankets as a nice surprise.

Sometimes, he wouldn’t sleep at all. He would go for his stash of drugs under Lydia’s bed. Maybe shoot some heroin. Maybe snort some coke. Maybe both. Either way, he would feel ramped-up and ready to run around the house until he was thoroughly worn-out and bummed. During one of those stints, he almost _always_ had to do a Guide. The Newly Deads were always alarmed by his unfocused, wild-eyed look, but that wasn’t important. He did his job and went back to the Deetz house… and waited for everyone to wake up. But a lot of times (the vast majority of nights) he wouldn’t. He sort of _forgot_ that drugs were an option and just… slept. Or rather, he tried to. It was comfortable and relaxing… and in the morning he got to hang out with people.

Day after day, November wore through like an old pair of shoes. He could see the holes in the bottoms, ready to fall through and sweep into December. A month since he started staying with the Deetz’s and Maitlands. A month since he started (trying) to sleep every night. And a month since he started to enjoy the feeling of infrequent, random hot showers and ratty blanket cocoons.

In more way than one, it was nice. He liked the feeling of belonging somewhere, even if it wasn’t as chaotic as he liked. He liked teasing Adam (just with words, not touch) and the way that he would _laugh_ instead of hiding behind Barbara. He liked how Barbara would fuss over him when he left the house in his pajama pants and sweatshirt. He liked how Delia would try to burn sage to cleanse the house… only to glare at him as he took the sage and dipped it in water. He liked Charles and his “Mr. Juice” nonsense but didn’t want to correct him to “Mr. Shoggoth.” Mr. Juice was funnier, and Mr. Shoggoth was just depressing. And, of course, he liked Lydia and her dark sense of humor and eye for the occult. He liked her curiosity and willingness to kick his ass should he suggest murder more than once. All in all, it was like having a sibling and that… that was, well, _nice._

And this routine, this ‘daily life’ was guided by the House Rules. Rules that everyone followed. There was no yelling. No touching of the naughty-bits. Things continued smoothly. Almost irritatingly smooth. Beetlejuice shook things up, though. He liked to help Lydia perform seances in her room. Bending shadows and messing with the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. A lot of the time, they just dug through tote bags and ate the Toblerone while Beetlejuice whined about Thomas Edison being a hard-boiled potato of a person.

“Long story short,” Beetlejuice said as he snapped off a piece of Toblerone and shoved it into his mouth. “Alexander Graham Bell is _way_ more interesting than Edison. Kinda rambles like a nerd, but like… a _good_ nerd. Not a _boring_ nerd like that _bitch_ , Newton.”

Lydia was lying upside down on her bed, her feet up on the headboard as she took a bite of chocolate. “Isaac Newton?”

“No, _Billy_ Newton—of _course_ Isaac Newton, you fucking dork.”

Kicking her feet a little, Lydia only laughed at the book on her chest. It was some recommended book from her classmate. She seemed to enjoy it… but Beetlejuice was envious of the attention. Maybe he should burn the book. Go full annoying sibling on her, just to make a point. But… she looked so happy where she held the book up and traced the words on the page.

Shimmying across the floor, he propped his chin on the mattress and said, “Whatcha reading? Somethin’ kinky?”

Lydia turned a page and took another bite of chocolate. “A book on female serial-killers in America.”

Beetlejuice nodded interestingly. “Ah. So it _is_ something kinky.” That got him a pillow to the face while Lydia glared at him.

“It’s not kinky. It’s _fascinating_.” She stuck a little tab to one page and moved to the next one. “I mean… can you _imagine_ what kind of ghosts they left behind? And it’s so crazy the stuff they got away with, just because it was a while ago.”

“Uh huh.”

“Wednesday said it was a good read,” she said with that fluttery smile. Wednesday, apparently, was her classmate that recommended the book. If she recommended a book on serial-killers, maybe she was more interesting than Beetlejuice gave her credit. Lydia wiggled her feet happily as she read, a smile on her face as she said, “I bet she likes Edgar Allen Poe.”

Beetlejuice arched an eyebrow. “Jeez. You gonna write her a sonnet? Sing her a song? Pull her hair and tell her she’s pretty?”

“What? No!” Lydia sat up, alarmed, and closed her book. She was turning red, but that just might be embarrassment. Breathers were so easily embarrassed. Heck, even _ghosts_ were easily embarrassed (Adam was a prime example of this). So he wasn’t exactly surprised when Lydia whacked him over the head with her book and snapped, “Wednesday is my _friend_. Don’t make it weird.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever.” Beetlejuice fell back and spread out on her floor like a slightly overweight starfish. “Wanna summon Cthulhu? I could go for some sea-food.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Would Cthulhu fit in our soup-pot?”

“We can chop him up,” Beetlejuice offered as he made chopping motions with his hands. “Lovecraftian for _days_.”

Before Lydia could agree, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Delia poked her head in, and Beetlejuice glared at her. She had tried putting malachite under his pillow the other night. He tried to eat it, just to prove a point, but now his stomach felt tingly and his eyes hadn’t stopped watering for two whole hours after he swallowed it. Now, she looked a little smug where she leaned in the doorway.

“ _Hey_ , guys!” She said, shimmying into the room with attempted cool-mom energy. “Having fun in here?”

“Depends,” Lydia said dryly, “Does summoning Cthulhu count as fun?”

Beetlejuice turned to her. “I think it counts as having sushi.”

“Don’t summon old gods,” Delia said stiffly. “That kind of energy isn’t something we need in the house.”

Lydia moved over and kicked Beetlejuice softly. “No sushi, Beej. Delia says so.”

Beetlejuice gasped dramatically. “That _bitch_.”

Rolling her eyes, Delia crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Your suit is back from the cleaners, Beetlejuice. I thought you might want to see it.”

Beetlejuice was up and on his feet immediately. Charles had taken his suit away almost a week ago, promising that it would be returned in the same condition and, hopefully, smelling better than before. Apparently, if he smelled bad, he wasn’t allowed to sit at the dinner table while the Deetz’s ate. They said something about how the smell put-off their appetites. So, he’d settled for wearing Charles’ old sweatshirts and pajama pants, looking more like a Sleep Demon than a literal Guide to the Other Side. Now he could go back to looking like _himself_.

He didn’t have patience of the stairs, choosing to make himself appear in the living room with little effort as he glanced around. “Where is it!” He shouted – he didn’t _try_ to shout, it just happened. Most of the time, Delia had to tell him to use his ‘inside voice’ whatever the hell that meant. He turned in a circle, looking for the familiar stripes. “Where’s my suit?”

In the kitchen, Charles took a slow drink of water and gestured to the white-cloaked package on the kitchen island. Beetlejuice sprang for it, tearing open the white protective sheet and revealing… his suit. It was so much _cleaner_ than he ever remembered it being, even when he first made it. The seams were still frayed. The cuffs were still ratty and threadbare, and so were the hems. But the black in his stripes was… softer. Grayer than he remembered. The whites were brighter, too. Back when he collected the fabric, the stripes hadn’t nearly been so bright and defined. The mold and dirt had been scrubbed away, deep-cleaned so well, he almost didn’t _recognize_ it.

“They couldn’t remove some of the deeper stains,” Charles explained, almost sounding apologetic as he gestured to a dark smudge on one of the sleeves… and another as the hem of the pants. “But they did bleach parts of the white stripes, just to make them bright again.”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice said, his hands trailing over the garment with a strange feeling zigzagging through his chest. “Yeah, it looks…” different. It looked _very_ different from the suit he made back in 1921. Gathering it up from the hanger, he bundled it up in his arms and walked away.

“Beetlejuice?” Charles asked, a little confused.

“Beej,” Lydia said as he walked past her on the second floor. She didn’t try to grab him on his way but looked a little curious as he kept going up the stairs. “Are you good?”

“Yeah, kid. I’m cool.”

But he didn’t stop. He went up to the attic, shouldered his way inside, and kicked the door shut behind him. The Maitlands were crowded over their little model-town, their attention locking on him as soon as the door slammed shut. Adam pushed his glasses up and on top of his head, his eyes sticking on the suit as he said, “Beetlejuice, what can we—”

“Smell this.”

Barbara blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Beetlejuice said as he thrusted the armful of striped suit at them. “Now smell this. Tell me if it smells good.”

The Maitlands looked at each other, a little baffled, before they complacently stepped forward. Barbara touched the fabric carefully, almost reverent as she looked over the stripes.

“Is this… your suit?” She asked, even though she clearly didn’t need an answer. Beetlejuice grunted affirmatively, and she smiled a little. “It looks pretty snazzy without all the dirt.”

“Almost like a real business suit!” Adam laughed as he picked up a sleeve and gave it a sniff. “And it smells like fresh laundry to me. Why? Can you not tell?”

Shrugging, Beetlejuice dropped the suit on the floor and started to pull off his sweatshirt. Barbara squeaked and threw her hands over her eyes – a little dramatic – while Adam shouted and spun around – _very_ dramatic. And people said _Beetlejuice_ was theatric.

While the Maitlands leaned into one another with their backs to Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice pulled on his suit and said, “Never really noticed the smell. I guess when you’re around a bunch of rotting corpses, you get used to it. Maybe. Probably. Is that how it works?”

Barbara hummed and put an arm around Adam’s back, her eyes trained on the wall as she responded. “Well… I would think that you’d notice the different smell when you put on that sweatshirt the first time.”

Adam snapped his fingers. “That’s right! Barbara, you’re so smart.” She thanked him, and he went on, “So… if you hadn’t noticed the fresh-laundry smell _then_ , it makes sense that you wouldn’t smell it _now_.” There was a pause where Adam simply held Barbara’s hand on his waist. “Can you… can you smell _anything_ , Beetlejuice?”

Beetlejuice paused, his hands halfway through clipping on his suspenders. Could he smell? Of _course_ he could smell. He sniffed stuff all the time. He could smell the obnoxious aroma-therapy Delia wafted toward him. He could smell the mint shampoo that Lydia used in her hair. He could smell the ink on Charles’ tax documents when they were freshly printed. He could smell all sorts of things… but maybe his nose had forgotten how to pick apart the smells and tell the bad from the good. He had, after all, been in the Netherworld with a _lot_ of dead people for a very, very long time.

After a bit of thought, Beetlejuice was able to pull on his suitcoat and say, “Yeah, I can smell. Just… I dunno. Didn’t notice myself.”

“Olfactory adaptation?” Adam suggested thoughtfully as he swayed a little, his hip bumping against Barbara’s and making her giggle. Beetlejuice watched with amusement as Barbara bumped him back. God, he wanted to hip-check them both into the floor and smother them. They were too cute to just _stand there_ being _insufferably_ adorable. Adam spoke before Beetlejuice could act on the impulse. “They say your nose gets used to your own scent pretty fast. That’s probably it. Unless… you just can’t tell what a ‘bad smell’ is.”

Walking up behind Barbara, he joined their little line of wall-staring and threw an arm around Barbara’s shoulders. She jumped, turned to him, and smiled at his freshly cleaned suit. They stood there for a moment, staring at the wall, and Beetlejuice said, “You two could’ve told me to leave, ya know.”

Adam made a face. “Wouldn’t you just… change in the hallway then? In front of the Deetz’s?”

Beetlejuice grinned. “You know me so well.”

“Well!” Barbara said as she slung her other arm around Beetlejuice’s waist. “Look at you! All dolled-up in your nice, clean suit!”

“Dolled-up? Babs,” Beetlejuice looked at her. _Really_ looked at her, and saw the oblivious glint in her eye when he said, “Do you like a man in uniform? More importantly: do you like a man _out_ of uniform?”

“Okay!” Adam laughed awkwardly and broke up their little trio with shaky hands. Beetlejuice snorted at that. Adam was so easy to fluster. Barbara wasn’t so easy… she was the tough one. The one that likes to play stoic until she blushed so hard it made her go beet-red. With a flourish of his hand, Adam gestured to the door. “You should show Lydia! Your suit. Not your…”

Beetlejuice frowned. “Adam. I’m not going to flash a fifteen-year-old girl. I may be a sexual demon but I’m not a sexual deviant.”

Adam flushed and reeled back, trying to pull his foot out of his mouth unsuccessfully, and Beetlejuice ignored him. He went downstairs, announcing his presence to the Deetz family huddled together on the first floor with a dramatic clear of his throat. Lydia turned, smiled, and said, “There he is.”

With a flourish, he spread his arms and shouted, “Ta-daah!” turning in a nice, slow circle so they could see his suit from all angles. This didn’t produce much of a reaction until Delia started to clap enthusiastically with a dramatic “Ooooh!” After slapping Charles’ arm a few times, he joined in and gave Beetlejuice a round of mediocre applause.

“It looks very nice, Beetlejuice,” he said in a flat voice, clearly not pleased with the overall presentation of the suit. Maybe he’d been hoping that _all_ the stains would be removed. Maybe he’d hoped the suit would just fall apart and Beetlejuice wouldn’t wear it anymore. Maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, Beetlejuice accepted the applause and gave a fake bow before descending the stairs.

“Thank you, thank you… I sure do love some fake compliments,” Beetlejuice bounced down the last step, looking down at Lydia with a sharp grin as she crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look. “What do you think, Lyds? Am I _demon-y_ enough for ya?”

After a minute, Lydia’s lips quirked up at the corners and she shrugged. “Still looks like crap, but it’s not as dirty and smelly… and it’s _your_ crap, so it’s good. You look like _yourself_ again, Beej.”

Beetlejuice gasped and held a hand to his heart. “Why, Lydia… did you… _miss my suit_?”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, kid! Tell me how you missed my suit!”

Lydia turned away and headed for the kitchen with Beetlejuice hot on her trail. “I’m getting a snack.”

Bounding over to the kitchen island, Beetlejuice lifted himself onto it and struck a pose. “You _missed_ your demon in uniform! Ready to kick ass and fuck ghosts!”

Lydia pulled a bowl down from the cupboard and pointedly ignored his pose. “It’s ‘kick ass and take names,’ Beej.”

Beetlejuice dropped his pose and thought for a minute. “You really think the Maitlands are going to let me take their last name? A little forward of you. Let me at least fuck them first.”

“Beetlejuice,” Delia said from the living room as she put a pair of earrings on. She and Charles were getting ready for some kind of ‘Date Night’ thing that they’d set up. The Maitlands would have their own on Sunday. Once a month, everyone steered clear of each other’s Date Nights and let them do all the kinky stuff couples do for a night. This would be the first Date Night that Beetlejuice would see since he started staying with them. Not that he was sure _what exactly_ a Date Night was. Probably involved sex. Maybe baby oil. Possibly ropes. Delia’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Off the kitchen island, please.”

He begrudgingly climbed down and bounced on his heels, hissing into Lydia’s ear, “Lyds. Your daddy and Debrama are _leaving_ for the night. You know what that means?”

Lydia pushed a bag of popcorn into the microwave and started it. “It means the ‘Delia’s name isn’t Delia’ joke is getting old?”

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “That joke is _never_ getting old, Lyds. The only thing old in this house is me. And Adam’s junky old 1988 desktop computer.”

From the stairs, Adam shouted indignantly: “That’s an _antique_!”

“Point is,” Beetlejuice said, momentarily distracted when the popcorn started to pop. He stared for a minute, getting more and more jittery as the popping escalated… only to turn back to Lydia with a force. “It means we have the _whole house_! For the _whole night_! We could prank people. Scare the shit outta the Maitlands. Throw ducks at the elderly. Sky’s the limit, baby!”

The microwave beeped and Lydia pulled the popcorn out and poured it into a bowl. “School was crap today, Beej. I just want to eat my popcorn, watch my movie, and chill.”

“But _Lydia_ …” Beetlejuice whined as he followed her back to the living room. Delia watched with an amused smile on her face as she fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist. Already perched on the sofa, Lydia turned on the TV and started flicking through channels with practiced expertise.

“You know what your suit makes me think of?” She said, clearly trying to change the subject. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and a ball and chain were attached to his ankle.

“Prison? With all the stripes and murderous people?” He asked, theatrically stumbling and pulling at the ball and chain. Lydia snorted.

“No, it reminds me of that stupid red suit you wore when we got married.”

The house went quiet. Beetlejuice frowned; no one liked it when the ‘marriage’ was brought up, even if it _had_ just been a green card thing. He didn’t do it to get all sloppy with Lydia (that would be disgusting). He did it so he could leave the house. Being summoned inside a house made things difficult… but this time, he was summoned outside. He could go out if he wanted. He didn’t _need_ to marry Lydia again, but with the way Charles looked at him from the doorway, there was clear discomfort.

Lydia didn’t seem bothered as she continued to flip through channels. “Hey. Beej.”

“Hey, woodworm.”

“Gross,” Lydia didn’t look away from the TV. “Weren’t you wearing a little hat? Like… only of those little yarmulke things? With the suit?”

Beetlejuice blinked; this conversation was starting to head in a direction he disliked. Talking about yarmulkes and such… reminded him of his mother and how she _disapproved_. It was a ‘breather’ thing. Religion, as it were. An old relic of the past. Something that his father had clung to… and the only thing Beetlejuice had left of him. A little dampened by the topic choice, Beetlejuice grumbled, “Yeah. I was. So what?”

She turned to him now, looking at him with a clear, nonjudgmental look in her eye as she said, “Are you Jewish?”

“Why?” He said with narrowed eyes. “What are you gonna do? Interrogate me?”

“Jeez, chill. No need to go red on me,” Lydia said with a shrug. Beetlejuice held a hand to his hair, his scalp tingling as his hair cycled through a few colors before settling. In the entryway, Charles had paused, watching the conversation with interest. “I just wanted to know. Thought it was interesting. Didn’t know demons were religious.”

Beetlejuice shifted where he stood, fiddling with the frayed cuffs of his suitcoat as he said, “I’m not really religious. Just… special occasion, ya know? Don’t get married every day. And I figured I never would again, so… yarmulke.”

“So you just wore it… randomly? Just because?”

“It wasn’t _random_ , Lydia,” Beetlejuice flopped onto the sofa with her, his legs hooked over the arm of the sofa as he glared up at the ceiling. “Look. Pretty much like… 80 percent sure my dad was Jewish. Maybe 78 percent. I dunno. But… pretty sure.”

Lydia looked back at the TV and started to flick through channels again. “Cool. My dad, too.”

Beetlejuice blinked and glanced at where Charles was lingering in the entryway, all fidgety hands and nervous glances. “Oh… yeah?”

Charles smiled a little and held Delia’s coat for her while she put on her gloves. “Our side of the family _is_ Jewish… but my family sort of fell out of tradition as I grew up. Family gatherings were still very full of those traditions, though.” Delia dipped her arms back for her coat and he pulled it up onto her shoulders, gathering her red hair so it didn’t get pulled when she buttoned herself up. While she did this, Charles leaned over to smile at Lydia. “We used to play some games when you were little. Remember, Lydia? Emily used to help you spin the dreidel.”

Lydia paused her channel-surfing to look at her father. “I… think I remember? Why did we stop? I don’t remember us celebrating Hanukkah.”

Delia glanced back at Charles, intrigued, and Charles made a thoughtful face. “I think we lost the dreidels. And Emily was from a very Catholic family… they were adamant that you were raised to hold their faith.”

Beetlejuice groaned and Lydia echoed the sound. “Dad. We never go to church.”

Laughing a little, Charles pulled on his gloves and said, “That’s exactly what Emily said. Her parents didn’t really approve. Not that we minded. We never had religion on the forefront of our minds, but… it was always nice to bring up old traditions.” He glanced at Beetlejuice. “Do you have any of those traditions, Beetlejuice?”

“Not really?” Beetlejuice grumbled as he scratched a hand through his hair and noticed a few stray strings on his jacket sleeve. He pulled at them as he spoke. “I mean. Just knew that my dad was Jewish. So, I tried to keep that in mind for special times. Though bringing it up during sex was _not_ one of those special times.”

“I’d assume,” Lydia muttered, and Beetlejuice grinned at her.

“My mom would always be like: ‘ _Demons don’t have religion, demons don’t have holidays, your father was a crack, get away from me you’re wasting my time,_ ’” he paused, frowned, and shifted on the sofa until the top of his head was pressed against Lydia’s leg. She elbowed him, and he smiled. “You know. The usual.”

“Doesn’t _sound_ usual,” Lydia shot back as she mashed the buttons on the remote. He glanced up a her. Was she mad? Was it about the Jewish thing? Or the mom thing? He wasn’t sure. Social cues were weird and dumb. Either way, she looked irritated as she continued to push buttons. “I mean. It’s _your_ life. Should be able to do whatever with it.”

In the entryway, Delia said, “We could get a menorah. And new dreidels,” she offered, clearly trying to smooth the waters. “It’s never too late to ramp up traditions!” She spread her hands wide and wiggled her fingers. “Holidays and games help build _positive_ energy. Makes for good vibes.”

Pivoting on the couch, Lydia turned so her feet were pressed to the top of Beetlejuice’s hair, her toes wiggling and pulling at his hair as she said, “Sounds cool.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “If you get a menorah, I’ll drink the oil.”

Lydia looked at him. “Only if I get to set you on fire.”

“Oof… you drive a hard bargain, kid.” Beetlejuice reached up, tickled her toes until she pulled away giggling, and smiled wide. “Sure. You can set me on fire.”

“Wonderful,” Charles said from the entryway, more disapproving of the situation than amused. “We’ll be going now. Adam, Barbara,” he looked to them where they stood on the stairs. “We’re leaving the two of you in charge.”

“You can count on us,” Adam promised with a wave while Barbara smiled and said, “Have a great time!”

While the Maitlands went into the kitchen to schmooze each other while they cooked, Beetlejuice rolled around on the sofa and watched Lydia click through movie selections. After a lot of insistence on horror, she finally picked _The Shining_ and settled in for a boring evening.

At least, it was boring to Beetlejuice. He liked to point out the funny stuff on the screen when Lydia was really engrossed, just to distract her. She would retaliate by dropping popcorn kernels on his face, but unfortunately for her, he liked the kernels. The crunch was more satisfying than Delia’s annoying crystals.

The Maitlands were making dinner for Lydia, murmuring quietly under the sound of the television. Lydia was quiet, watching the flickering screen. It was too peaceful. He reached out, trying to see if there were any open Guides, but there was nothing near him… he’d have to find entertainment elsewhere. Glancing at the kitchen, he smiled. Barbara was washing off the lettuce. Perfect.

With little effort, he burst out of the sink drain and screamed “BOO!” loud enough to make the cabinets rattle. The lettuce fell to the floor. Water sprayed up into Barbara’s face and she stumbled back, running into Adam where he was dicing tomatoes. Adam panicked and drove the knife through his fingers. He screamed, horrified… only to stop short.

There was no blood. Of course there wasn’t. He was dead. Barbara turned him around, “Let me see. Let me see!” and they looked at his completely unscathed hand. They were scared… but not of him. That wasn’t any fun. On the sofa, Lydia was looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Beetlejuice was still standing over the sink.

“O _kay_ …” he said lowly, seeing the way Adam’s hands shook with unabashed horror. He kept looking for the cut. Looking for the blood. But he was a _ghost_. Neither would appear. Barbara touched his hands, his shoulders, his face, all worried eyes and parted lips, ready to tell him he was okay. But the words didn’t come. Beetlejuice hung over them awkwardly. “You guys were supposed to scream. It was gonna be funny.”

“Funny?” Barbara asked, her eyes wide. “You thought Adam cutting his hand would be _funny_?”

Beetlejuice made a face. “What—Babs, I wasn’t trying to get Adam to chop his fingers off. I was trying to _scare_ you.”

Barbara sputtered and shook her head. “That’s not—this isn’t—He could have been hurt!”

“He’s dead,” Beetlejuice said flatly. “You’re both. Dead. Barbara, don’t tell me you forgot you’re dead.”

Before Barbara could snap at him, Adam laughed. He _laughed_. It started small, just a little soft, bubbly giggle… until it was full-blown laughter. His shoulders shook and his nose scrunched up as he held his hand up for display. “The knife!” He laughed, “Went _right through!”_

“That’s the spirit, Adam! Laugh it off!” Beetlejuice hopped over to the kitchen island and crouched low to give him a smile. Adam laughed harder.

“I _am_ the spirit!” He wheezed, grabbing Barbara’s shoulder and laughed, “ _We’re_ the spirits!”

Though she clearly tried to smother down a smile, Barbara was failing as she coughed a laugh and said, “Adam, that’s—”

“Because we’re ghosts!” Adam said, effectively tickling Barbara into laughing.

Beetlejuice bounced a little where he was crouched on the kitchen island, listening to the Maitlands laugh so hard they had to hold each other up. He _loved it_ when they laughed, especially because Barbara was going to snort at _least_ once.

“ _Adam!”_ Barbara leaned into him as she laughed, “That’s such a _stupid_ joke!”

In the living room, Lydia poked her head up and leaned against the back of the sofa with a wry smile. “If we could get people to see you, we could make the _best_ haunted house with that trick.”

That made Adam and Barbara laugh even harder, holding onto each other while they took turns making horror-movie faces at one another. They weren’t scary, not in the slightest, but Adam made such a spectacle of himself that Barbara snorted and laughed even harder.

Sliding off the kitchen island, Beetlejuice slunk over to the sofa and rested his chin on the back of it, a grin on his face as he watched them laugh. “They’re so _dumb_ ,” he said to Lydia, like it was a fond secret. Lydia gave him a sidelong look.

“Beej. You’re stupid.”

“Hey. I may be stupid, but I’m not dumb,” He continued to stare at them. “They’re so _boring_. But sexy. How does that work?”

Lydia turned back to her movie. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what? Awesome?”

Lydia sighed. “No. Horny.”

“Oh. Yeah, always.” He turned back to the Maitlands.

They’d calmed down a bit and were simply standing together with those lovestruck sappy looks on their faces. He hated it. He loved it. He wanted to be right in the middle, smooshed between them or wrapped around them, holding them so close they couldn’t breathe. Was that bad? Maybe. He couldn’t tell. He groaned and messed up Lydia’s hair as a distraction. She swatted at him in retaliation.

“Hey! I’m watching a movie! Knock it off!”

“ _Lydia_ ,” he moaned, throwing his voice around the room to make it echo ominously. The Maitlands were startled by it at first… only to resume their dinner preparations when they realized it was just Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice made a point to lean close to Lydia and whisper, “I’m fucking hopeless.”

Lydia didn’t even need to look at him to know he was staring at the Maitlands. With a wry smile, she turned up the volume on the TV and said, “You’re tellin’ me.”

+++++

Beetlejuice liked to watch the Maitlands. Was it a little creepy? Yeah, absolutely. Was he going to stop? No, probably not.

He didn’t grab or poke or pinch anymore. Now he just watched from a good distance and, on a good day, was allowed to watch from a little closer. Adam had gotten used to Beetlejuice crowding his space. And more often than not, he simply told Beetlejuice to pull up a chair and sit next to him while he read or painted. Barbara was just as easy-going, already used to him following her around from place to place and making his commentary. After a solid month of staying with them, she didn’t bat an eye when he sat next to her on the sofa and draped an arm around her on the back of the sofa. They were _comfortable_ around him, and he liked that.

Maybe those stupid “House Rules” were good for him. Maybe the limits made things easier. It was like warming up for a record-breaking hit, a homerun for three different batters, and among it all, the Maitlands were on the pitching mound, cheering him on.

Well, they weren’t his personal cheerleaders. They were too quiet for that. They simply smiled and gestured and spoke in those soft, careful voices that made him go _insane_. Wasn’t it tiring being so nice all the time? Didn’t they ever want to go crazy and scare the shit out of someone like he did with Lydia? No, they didn’t. They enjoyed making their model town in the attic. Barbara picked up a new hobby every week. Adam had started getting into French literature. They were the very _essence_ of boring.

And he loved them for it.

Altogether, they were a little like the color beige while Beetlejuice was black and white and green and purple… too many colors to count and too little time to care. They were muted and soft. A little calming when he was too wound up or too down to be personable. “Help us with the model, Beetlejuice!” Adam would say, gesturing him up to the attic. “Beetlejuice, taste this for me?” Barbara would lure him into the kitchen. They took him places in the house, one on one, and improved his mood with their soft hands and gentle smiles.

_God,_ he loved them.

It had to be exhausting. It had to be a favor they were doing for the Deetz’s. It didn’t make sense otherwise. Despite all promises to the contrary, Beetlejuice _had_ almost let Lydia exorcise Barbara. She should have been holding a grudge. When Adam tried to stop him, he slapped a metal plate over his mouth. Adam should _hate_ him. But there they were, telling him he was “very good” at painting a teeny tiny mailbox the wrong color, or his ability to pick out herbs in Barbara’s recipe was “incredible! How do you know those herbs?” It was intoxicating… and he’d been drunk on them for _weeks_. A little like being spoiled, but with soft touches to his shoulder, a hand on his wrist pulling him away, or a pat on the arm goodnight.

He _loved_ them, and inch by inch they were getting closer. It was almost enough to drive him insane (if he weren’t already verifiably nuts by his mothers’ own admission).

This was a long-winded way of saying that the Maitlands were slowly but surely warming up to him. It was about damn time, considering all they’d been through together. And he didn’t particularly _mind_ the fact that they were warming up to him… it was quite the opposite. He wished the Rules weren’t in place so he could go nuts and ravish the boring morons until their brains exploded. But beggars can’t be choosers.

Besides, their whole soft and squishy outline was nice enough as it was. If he roughed them up, it would really mess with their image. They were the gentle, boring family. The white-suburban flavor of boring that made them so sexy and irritating in the first place. It was appealing, their whole… whatever it was they had. And Beetlejuice wanted _in_ … but he wasn’t exactly sure how to shoe-horn his way into it. They were the slow-moving types. The “little things” people, not the “grand gestures” people. Part of Beetlejuice hoped he could just worm his way in by simply staying around them and hoping he would somehow get stuck in their orbit. This was pretty damn unlikely.

The Maitlands weren’t demon-inclined; at least, not from what Beetlejuice had seen. They were quiet, domestic, and irritatingly understandable. They didn’t go nuts, they didn’t make scenes… no, that was Beetlejuice’s job.

At least, it _was_ his job. Until that chilly, November evening.

He’d come back from a Guide (quick, painless, he made the kid laugh a couple times before waving them through the door) and sauntered through the door with a whooping “ _Honey, I’m home!”_ in his lungs… only to pause.

There was a boy in the house.

There are many males in the Deetz household; Charles, Adam, Beetlejuice (sometimes)… but this kid was someone new. He didn’t look like a burglar or a stalker. He was sitting on the sofa like he’d been _invited_ inside, staring at Beetlejuice with wide, confused eyes. On the coffee table in front of him, a textbook was spread on the table.

“Hey, Beej,” Lydia said, snapping Beetlejuice’s attention from the stranger. She was in the kitchen, pouring a few glasses of the weird, bubbly carbonated shit that she liked to drink. She brought one to the living room and handed it to the boy who was still staring at Beetlejuice. Maybe he was scared of him. That would be nice. Lydia gestured to Beetlejuice and said, “This is my uncle, BJ.” Then, she gestured to the boy. “Beej, this is Jacob. We’re stuck working on this project and he’s leaving town for the holidays, so we have to get it done early. Don’t bug us.”

Jacob twitched at the sound of “bugging” them, giving Lydia a look that didn’t quite suit him. One that looked a little… hungry, if Beetlejuice looked carefully. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. He’d seen people horny before… but this was just weird. It was _Lydia_ for god’s sake. She wasn’t a piece of meat, no matter _who_ was looking at her.

With a nonchalant roll of his shoulders, Beetlejuice bounced toward the stairs. “What? _Me_? Bugging _you_? Lyds, you are _damaging_ my reputation.” Lydia ignored him, and he slowly started to climb the stairs. The Maitlands were on the second-floor landing, watching Lydia and Jacob carefully as Beetlejuice slowly took once step at a time. “Don’t stop me, Lyds. I’m a busy guy. Plenty of shit to do. _Beg_ me to stay.”

“So, I think if we split up the presentation,” Lydia said to Jacob, pointing at her textbook. “It should be easy. You do the evens, I do the odds… whatever.”

“Ooh, look at her!” Barbara cooed where she leaned against the railing. Beetlejuice came to stand next to her, marveling at the way the Maitlands were _totally fine_ with not being seen. Poor dopes didn’t know what they were missing. Barbara sighed, and Beetlejuice looked at her. “It’s this nice? She brought a friend!”

Adam pursed his lips and hummed. Beetlejuice arched an eyebrow. _Oh?_ So he saw it, too. He knew that this Jacob kid had some other agenda up his sleeve. Beetlejuice and Adam were _dead_ , but they weren’t _clueless_. They knew a Stupid Man in-training when they saw one. Barbara, however, was blissfully unaware.

“This is good,” she said, like Adam and Beetlejuice needed convincing. “She needs a friend.”

“Hey!” Beetlejuice snapped, and she waved him away absently.

“A _normal_ friend. A _living_ friend…” she put her chin in her palm and sighed. “To be honest, I was worried about her, all cooped up with us dead-folk.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “ _Dead-folk_.”

Adam’s eyes were trained on the back of Jacob’s head as he said, “How was the Guide, Beetlejuice?”

Beetlejuice twitched, really wanting to drape an arm around Barbara’s waist. She was just _right there_ and she was so _open_ … but there was a no-touching thing in the Rules. So, he shoved his hands in his pockets and wiggled his fingers. “Yeah, it was whatever. Little kid this time.” Barbara shot him a worried look, and he avoided the stare like the plague as he said, “ _Hate_ guiding kids. But love it. Love it but hate it.” He thought for a moment. “Better _me_ guiding them than _someone else_ , I guess. At least I make them laugh. I know guys that just _punts_ the little suckers through the door.”

Barbara held a hand to her throat before looking at Adam, those sad doe-eyes catching on Adam’s as they held some sort of nonverbal conversation. A connection between the eyes… though Beetlejuice didn’t have any idea how they did it. Couple-telepathy probably. Damn it, that sounded _cool_.

Looking away from them, he glanced down at Lydia and Jacob. Jacob scooted a little closer to Lydia, pointing at something in the book as he spoke. Lydia shifted away a bit… but nodded. Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose and huffed.

“How long you think the stupid project-whatever is gonna take?”

Adam took a breath and sighed. “Hard to say. I think it’s a history project.”

“I know history!” Beetlejuice said excitably as he leaned over the railing. “Lyds! I can help! I _lived_ history!”

Pivoting where she sat, Lydia gave him a tired look as she said, “Oh yeah? You were around for World War II?”

Oh. Beetlejuice reeled back, his feet rocking him away from the railing as he grit his teeth. There had been a _lot_ of death in World War II. Lots of innocent lives… lots of innocent people… men, women, children… none of it was precedented. None of it should have happened. And yet, the names popped up on Juno’s ledger, and Beetlejuice had to Guide them. He didn’t have a choice.

So, he made himself the Guide for those lost, scared children in the camps. He walked them through the door to the Netherworld like it was a goddamn parade. They were happy. They were _free_ … but god _damn_ if it didn’t leave Beetlejuice bitter and aching inside.

“Beetlejuice?” Barbara asked, a hand reaching out to him. It was an offer, one to help him calm down, but he didn’t _want_ to take it. He wanted to stay jaded. He wanted to be mad. So he waved the hand away and looked down at the living room.

“Never mind,” he grumbled. Jacob looked at him, and Beetlejuice glared until Jacob lost his nerve and looked away. Lydia stared, though. She looked at him and he saw something like… regret flickering through her eyes. He tried to shrug and shake it off as he said, “Not my favorite topic. Call me if you need deep insight on the sexy life of Byron.”

While Adam and Barbara made interested twittering sounds at that, Jacob spoke up and said, “Dude, your hair is _crazy_.”

Beetlejuice grinned. “Yeah? I like it crazy.”

Jacob laughed, but it was high and uncomfortable as he shifted on the sofa. “So like… up there, it looks kinda… black. But it looked green before. Is it like… special dye? What’s the trick?”

The smile turned tight as Beetlejuice twitched and said, “Anxiety.” While Jacob made a face and turned away, Beetlejuice’s lip curled in a low, irritated growl. Barbara looked at him, still a little confused, and Beetlejuice scrubbed a hand through his hair. “What color?” He snapped. Barbara looked at his hair, and her expression softened.

“You’re going a little red. Are you… are you okay?”

“I’m _fucking awesome_ , babe.” Beetlejuice paused, looked at Adam, and saw that he wasn’t even paying attention to Beetlejuice’s hair. His gaze was still fixed on Jacob and Lydia, sitting close and muttering about their project. Still feeling irritation buzzing across his skin, Beetlejuice scratched at his facial scruff and grumbled, “Keep on eye on them A-dog. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Right,” Adam said, not even looking at him. Beetlejuice grinned.

“I might take a shower, too. Get all soapy and wet.”

“Sure,” Adam nodded absently.

“Might just get all hot and bothered and think about you while I—”

“Beetlejuice!” Barbara hissed with a barely-smothered giggle, swatting at him until he snickered and snuck down the hall a bit. She stayed with Adam though, giving Beetlejuice a dirty look over her shoulder that was _ruined_ by the smile on her face. She thought he was funny. That was good enough for him.

Running his hand through his hair again, he looked at Barbara and raised an eyebrow. “Color?”

Barbara smiled a little and said, “Green as usual. Much better.”

“You like my green hair?”

“I like it when you’re happy and relaxed,” Barbara said as she rubbed Adam’s back absently. “So does Adam, even though he’s not paying attention.”

Beetlejuice wasn’t sure what to say to that. No one liked his green hair (aside from himself) and more often than not, it landed him in hot water with his mom. “ _Why is your hair that color, stop pulling at your hair, don’t cry, don’t you dare start crying again—”_ Beetlejuice blinked hard, bringing himself back to the conversation, but Barbara had turned away, watching Lydia and Jacob with interest as Beetlejuice stood with his hands uselessly hanging at his sides.

He wanted to reach out. To touch them. To pressed himself against Adam’s back and feel his shoulders and arms and his _everything_. To brush Barbara’s hair from her neck and kiss right there, right where he knew she was ticklish. Just to… he wasn’t sure. Just to make them feel this sticky, gooey feeling that was bouncing around his chest? To share it? To show them what he couldn’t exactly put into words? “Gratitude” wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t his _style_ anyway. “Puppy-love” sounded stupid, even though it was very Maitland-y. What was it? Something, that was for _damn_ sure.

Shoving his hands back into his pockets – safe territory, as per the House Rules – he shuffled off to the guest room and threw himself into the little nest of blankets that he’d created in the corner. It was driving Delia nuts that he wasn’t actually sleeping _in_ the bed anymore. He’d made a habit to move his little nest around the room every few days, just to mess with her. She was slowly getting used to it, recommending that he lay on his back rather than curling in a tight ball under a mountain of pillows. He said he’d think about it, even though he wouldn’t.

Burrowing down deep into the blankets, Beetlejuice let himself ruminate on what he’d done that day. He’d actually gone _outside_ , done a Guide, and didn’t even make anyone cry as a result. Crying was awful. The bane of his existence. From a young age, it had been screamed out of him; No Crying Allowed in Juno’s office. So he hadn’t done it in a long time and seeing someone else cry was… _weird_. Distant, in a way. He knew what it felt like… but from a strange, far away standpoint. Like looking at a photo album of faces he recognized but could never name.

He’d seen Lydia cry. Back in that parking structure where he saved her from those muggers. He’d seen the redness in her face. The tremble of her hands and the smear of her makeup. He’d seen it… and maybe… _almost…_ felt it. It made his stomach hurt, like he’d eaten moldy bread again and refused to vomit it up in a show of fierce dominance over his own digestive system. He wasn’t even the one crying, and still… it hurt. He didn’t like it. Maybe if he just… made Lydia happy? Kept joking, making other scream, making her laugh… that would keep away the tears. He wouldn’t have to hear it again or wonder what he could do to _fix_ it.

“Beetlejuice!” Barbara’s voice cut through his thoughts where he was curled up in the corner, and he sat up immediately. The door opened fast, hit the wall hard, and Barbara was in the doorway with a horrified expression. “You’ve got to stop him!”

Beetlejuice fought the blankets he’d tangled himself in, wriggling and tripping over them as he stumbled up onto his feet. Barbara was shaking. He hadn’t seen her like that… well, since he decided to haunt the Deetz house, way back when. No… no, maybe not even then. This was different. Her hands were shaking, she was reaching for him, grabbed at his sleeve, pulling him to the hall, Beetlejuice felt something… _something_ in his chest.

“Babs, what—”

“It’s Adam,” she said as she dragged him down the hallway, at the top of the stairs, she leaned over and desperately called, “Adam! Lydia, did he stop?”

When Beetlejuice glanced over the railing, he saw why Barbara was panicking. Adam was standing over Jacob with his hands up and fingers poised as claws. Jacob’s face was turning blue. He was being choked. Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow; this was possession _of the hottest kind_.

“Adam! Stop! He’s not even touching me anymore!” Lydia was grabbing Adam’s shoulders, pulling at him desperately to no avail. The ghost’s fingers curled closed a little more, and Jacob looked like he was on the edge of passing out. Lydia screamed, “ _Adam! Stop!”_ She looked to Beetlejuice, desperate and shaking as she said, “Beej! Beej, you’ve got to _do_ something!”

“I’m _so_ turned on right now,” Beetlejuice grumbled where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Not gonna lie, I’m like at half-mast.”

“Beetlejuice, please make him _stop_!” Barbara cried as she leapt at Adam and grabbed at his shirt, pounding his back as she said, “Adam Jeremiah Maitland this is _not_ you!”

“She said _no_ ,” Adam growled where he was looming over Jacob. Beetlejuice didn’t move. He watched the way Adam shook with fury he didn’t even know was deep down in him. It was insanely attractive… if not for what Adam was saying. He spoke through gritted teeth, all angry eyes and burning words as he growled, “ _She said no!”_

“And now he’s off of me!” Lydia said, trying to put reason into the situation as Adam refused to release his possession. Jacob was choking. Beetlejuice could feel a Guide coming on. Soon, Adam wouldn’t just be a ghost guilty of possession… he would be a ghost guilty of murder. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t _Adam_. He would never forgive himself. Lydia tried again, “Adam, _please!”_

“Alright, that’s enough.” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and Adam was gone, banished to the attic. In his wake, Jacob was left to gasp and wheeze as he caught his breath. That wasn’t any fun. With another flick of Beetlejuice’s wrist, and Jacob fell off the sofa, hit his head on the leg of the table, and immediately slipped into unconsciousness. Barbara froze, her hands still in the air as she looked around desperately for Adam.

“A-Adam?” She asked, her voice quivering as she turned in a listless circle. Her eyes started to water, all bright and shining as she took a shuddering breath that would precede full-blown crying. “Adam. Ad… Adam!”

“Easy, Babs. I sent him to the attic to cool off.” Beetlejuice reached out to touch her shoulder, giving her an awkward, stiff pat. Really, he’d feel better if he could pull her in for a hug so tight that she would forget that she was ever about to cry – but the House Rules hung over him, so he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Lydia. “Hey, kid… what the _hell_ did I miss? I laid down for like _a minute_ and all the fun stuff happens.”

Lydia’s hands were still shaking as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. Licking her lips, she took a leveling breath and said, “You… Beej, you went upstairs like. An hour ago.”

Beetlejuice frowned; so he’d fallen asleep without realizing it. Great. Barbara stepped forward, readily putting her arms around Lydia and pulling her in for a tight, comforting hug. Beetlejuice watched Lydia hug back, her hands grasping desperately at Barbara’s shoulder as she took several deep, deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Barbara asked, over and over. “Are you okay? Sweetheart, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry that he—”

“I’m okay,” Lydia said robotically, like the reply was on standby. Her eyes said otherwise, staring over Barbara’s shoulder with a strange, flat glint to them. That wasn’t any good. There wasn’t any _Lydia_ left in there. Beetlejuice wrung his hands, unsure of what to do with himself. Again, Lydia muttered, “I’m okay.”

“Seriously,” Beetlejuice stressed with a wild gesture of his arms. “What the hell happened?”

Lydia grimaced and held Barbara tight, even when Barbara tried to step back. Understanding the message, Barbara stayed close, passing a loving hand through Lydia’s hair as the teenager muttered, “Tried to put his hand up my skirt.”

Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose, glancing between Lydia and Jacob. “Yeah? And?”

“ _I didn’t_ _want him to_.”

Beetlejuice nodded slowly; this was a Big Deal, though part of it didn’t quite click. With a flash of insight, he realized it: Rule Number One on the House Rules. No touching without ‘knowing consent’ whatever that was. They were the House Rules… and Jacob _broke_ the House Rules. Beetlejuice enjoyed being touched anytime, any day, anywhere… but maybe not everyone saw it that way.

Maybe not everyone was _starved_ for that touch like he was. Maybe that was it.

Lydia didn’t cry, though. No… she looked _angry_. Frustrated by something that she couldn’t stop. Really, it was almost impossible to stop a possession by a ghost… but Beetlejuice was a demon. He had more clout in this area. She couldn’t really be _upset_ that she couldn’t stop him… could she?

Reaching out to ruffle her hair a bit, Beetlejuice gave her a smile and said, “No breather would be able to fight possession. It’s not your fault, kid.”

Lydia gave him a hard look. “That’s… I’m not mad about the possession.” Barbara held her a little tighter, and Lydia tucked her face into Barbara’s waves of hair as she muttered, “It got him _off of me_ … and yeah, it was overboard, I just…”

Beetlejuice made a face. “If you’re not mad about _him_ then why are you—”

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara said calmly. “Could you check on Adam?” She was dismissing him. Sending him away. She didn’t _want_ him there. Beetlejuice took a few disheartened steps back, and Barbara gave him a gentle look. “Now, don’t… don’t go all purple on me, mister. I just… I think Lydia needs a minute to breathe. So… check on Adam for me? Make sure he’s not beating himself up over this?”

Beetlejuice didn’t need to be asked twice. “Don’t go all purple on me, mister” was the nicest way anyone had told him _not_ to change his hair. His mom dealt with it differently… rougher. Angrier. Telling him how to feel and why what he _was_ feeling wasn’t right. But Barbara was soft. She comforted him and made him feel… wanted. Like she _needed_ him. It was a good feeling. One that settled deep in his chest, all curled up in a cozy ball when he appeared in the attic.

He pushed open the door without knocking and found Adam pacing the attic angrily.

“Hey,” he grunted as he stepped inside and leaned casually against the wall. Adam ignored him and continued to pace. “You beating yourself up? Wifey wants to know.”

“The—the _nerve_ of that young man! He just, just…” Adam threw his hands in the air. “Put his hands on her! Without _asking!_ His—he’s—on my little girl! My little Lydia! The _punk_ just… _grabbed_ her.”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows made a run for his hairline. “You’re really mad.”

“Of course I’m mad!” Adam shouted, looking at Beetlejuice like _he_ was the one that grabbed Lydia. That would be nasty. Lydia was a _kid_. And even if she wasn’t, the age-gap would _still_ be too weird. That didn’t matter; Adam was glaring at him and it put a bitter taste on Beetlejuice’s tongue. “She said no! _She said no!”_

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice said uneasily, unsure what this had to do with anything. They touched. People touch all the time. Beetlejuice _wished_ more people touched him. Why was this so bad?

“You know what that is?” Adam asked without pausing for an answer. “It’s _assault!_ Oh, if I were still alive, the things I would say to that boys’ parents. The… _god_ _damn_ kid, putting his hands on _my_ daughter—”

Beetlejuice made a pinched expression. “Glossing over the whole ‘your kid’ thing… he just put his hand up her skirt, right? What does that—”

“ _That’s sexual assault!_ A physical attack against her, without— _without her consent_ ,” Adam said, his hands still shaking with anger as he paced like a caged tiger. Clipped, furious steps in the tight space of the attic that were sure to burn a hole in the floor if he kept going. Beetlejuice felt something in his brain _clicking_ into place. Something that felt like a gut-punch style realization. It was winding up, ready to blow him over with reality as Adam snapped, “He _touched her_ without her consent! He said that she… oh, that she invited him over while no one was around for a _reason_. He… he tried to push her down, _force himself_ on her, I—” Adam cut himself off and kept pacing.

Beetlejuice felt something bolt through him. Like lightning, but colder. Like adrenaline, but there was no flutter of panic in his dead heart. It was more of a dull _thud_ in his brain. Like a body hitting the ground, bones and muscle colliding hard with the earth as he muttered, “I did that. I _assaulted_ you… didn’t I?”

It wasn’t a question. Even so, Adam stopped his pacing, turned to look at Beetlejuice, and said: “Yes. Yes, you did.”

Beetlejuice thought for a moment, this feeling settling in his stomach, oily like grease as he swallowed thickly. “And you… didn’t like it.”

Adam looked at him for a moment. He wasn’t shaking any more. He lost his huffing and puffing attitude and simply looked… tired. After a moment, he sighed, “No, I didn’t.”

Quiet settled between them, and Beetlejuice felt something in his skin itch; a Guide was needed somewhere way, way up north. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet. It didn’t feel right to leave. Not until this… _whatever_ had happened with Lydia was settled. Adam cuffed a hand through his hair and sighed again, this time sounding a little sad.

“I should… I should apologize,” Adam said, looking at his own hands with stark disparity. “I… I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never felt… _capable_ of hurting someone.”

“Well, Adam.” Beetlejuice stepped forward and slung an arm around Adam’s shoulders and said, “You just had your first possession fueled by murderous-rage.” Beetlejuice pulled a microphone out of his pocket and held it in front of Adam. “How does it feel?”

Adam leaned forward to murmur into the microphone, “Bad.”

“You wanna do it again sometime? Maybe with your pants off?”

Adam cracked a smile and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Bummer, but I totally get it. You finally learned how to _scare_ … even though it wasn’t really your style, that kid won’t forget this.” Beetlejuice tossed the microphone over his shoulder and let it slip back onto the plane of nonexistence. Under his arm, Adam looked more bereft than ever. Maybe it was the touching thing. Yanking his arm away, Beetlejuice shuffled back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry. Didn’t know this whole… _touching_ thing was actually a _thing_ with you breathers.”

Adam made a face and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “It’s… well, it’s not all touching, Beetlejuice. It’s more about… appropriateness. Being aware of limits and propriety.”

“Adam, literally _none_ of those words mean _anything_ to me.”

With a startled laugh, Adam shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I figured! Look, Beetlejuice…” he turned to Beetlejuice and put a hand on his shoulder. It burned. Hot and real and it felt like a comforting weight that just _wasn’t enough_ like every other time they touched… and Adam smiled. “I know you like touching people. I know you like being close. But certain things… certain things need to be agreed to. People need to be asked before you kiss them or put your hands under their clothes.”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth to make a joke, but nothing came to him. All he could do was numbly mutter, “Like when I kissed you and Babs?”

Adam nodded tiredly. “Yeah, like when you kissed us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So if I ask… it’s okay?”

“If you ask and we say _yes_ , then it’s okay.” Adam paused, looked at Beetlejuice for a long, considerable moment, and said, “Beetlejuice. _That is what consent means_.”

And it finally clicked. The ‘knowing consent’ in the rules. The Maitlands agreeing wholeheartedly when it was added to the list. They _hated_ what he did. He _assaulted_ them. With a bit of bile rising up in his throat, Beetlejuice swallowed hard and took a step back. Adam let him.

“Adam,” he said carefully, like he wasn’t sure what he was going to spit out next. Adam looked at him calmly, and Beetlejuice felt very, very small where he stood. “Did you get this mad when I kissed you guys? Were you and Babs… were you _this mad at me_?”

Adam thought for a moment… and shook his head. “More than anything, we sere surprised, I think. You kissed us, we said ‘no’ and you… well, you seemed to back off then, didn’t you?”

Beetlejuice grimaced. “Well, _yeah._ But. I didn’t... I didn’t _ask_ first, I—”

“And now you know,” Adam said softly. Without pause, he went to the door. “I need to apologize… that kid… he may have attacked Lydia, but… what I did was unacceptable.”

Beetlejuice followed close behind him, practically impersonating Adam’s shadow as they descended the stairs. Lydia and Barbara were sitting on the bottom step, staring at where Jacob was still laid out on the floor. When they heard Adam and Beetlejuice coming down to meet them, Lydia stood and met them on the second floor.

“Lydia—” Adam started, only to get an armful of a black-clad teenager before he could finish. He hugged her back, holding her tight as he said, “I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m okay,” Lydia promised, as if this would somehow help things. Beetlejuice still wasn’t sure how much damage was done, but it was clear that things had been shaken up. This kid crossed a line that shouldn’t have been crossed. It hurt Lydia. It hurt Adam and Barbara. It wasn’t just _one_ person feeling the pain… it was an anger that filled the air. Even so, Lydia said, “I’m okay.”

“When you told him to stop and he _didn’t_ , I…” Adam paused, took a breath he didn’t need, and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. I just…”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s probably a Dad instinct.”

Adam laughed, but he wasn’t really amused – the sound was high and caught in his throat. “Yeah… yeah, I think it was. Are you…” He stepped back, cupped Lydia’s face and tilted her chin up to really look at her. “Sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay?”

Lydia hesitated, and that was all Beetlejuice needed. She hesitated, but nodded and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… Beej. What are you doing?”

Beetlejuice slipped between the thin bars of the railing and down onto the first floor. This kid messed with his best friend? Touched her when she didn’t want to be touched? That wasn’t going to fly. Not even a little. He couldn’t kill the kid in good conscious… Lydia didn’t even let Adam do that much. But he could do something that Adam couldn’t accomplish even if he tried his damnedest.

Grabbing Jacob by the back of his shirt, Beetlejuice hauled him up, gave Lydia two-fingered salute, and vanished from the Deetz household. Where he ended up was a familiar, rocky coastline. The Graveyard of the Pacific used to be a _huge_ hotspot for Guides way back when. Now Beetlejuice simply stood at the top of a cliff with the back of a jacket balled up in his hand. Jacob was still out cold. He could wait. In the meantime, he could think of all the torturous things he _could_ be doing… but wouldn’t do. No, he was just going to scare the living hell out of the kid.

When Jacob sluggishly woke up, he blinked hard, jolted, and flailed in Beetlejuice’s grip. “Woah! _Woah_ , what the hell? Where—what?”

Beetlejuice didn’t waste any time. Adjusting his hold on Jacob, he took the front of his shirt, pulled him up and off his feet, and dangled him over the edge of the cliff. Jacob screamed. He wailed. He begged for a reason. Begged for his life. Beetlejuice listened, waited for him to yell himself out of breath, and then grinned.

“You _ever_ … touch Lydia like that again?” He asked, low and poignant. Jacob stared, his eyes wide and breathing shallow. Beetlejuice’s smile melted down into a grimace. “I’ll make you _wish_ that I let go, right here, right now.”

And just like that, they were on the front step of the Deetz house. Jacob was on his feet, staring at the front door with wide, terrified eyes. Beetlejuice stood next to him, a bemused smile on his face as he gave Jacob a hard slap on the back.

“ _Jeez_ , kid. What’re you doing on the front porch?” Jacob looked at him, thoroughly startled, and took a shuddery step back. Beetlejuice grinned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Weren’t you working on your project?”

The front door swung open, and Lydia greeted them. She saw Beetlejuice… she saw Jacob… and she simply said, “Hey. What are you doing outside? I thought we were gonna work on the project.”

“Wha—you—that’s—” Jacob started a few more times, just jumbles of consonants that couldn’t form real sentences, and then resigned himself to a shaking, shuddery sigh. “Y-yeah… sure. Okay. I guess… it was in my head?”

Beetlejuice followed him inside, watching the way Jacob kept a healthy distance from Lydia when they carefully sat on the sofa. Jacob kept _looking_ at him, all shifty-eyes and nervous glances to check and see if Beetlejuice could see him. Beetlejuice could, in fact, see him. And he wasn’t going to take his eyes off of them until he left.

So he leaned on the banister of the stairs, looking down at the situation like a soft but spiteful gargoyle. At his sides, the Maitlands bracketed him with Barbara on his left and Adam on his right. They watched quietly for a while, making sure Jacob had been thoroughly – and unforgettably – startled. After a solid five minutes, Adam reached over and gave Beetlejuice’s wrist a squeeze.

“I’m not sure what you did to him,” Adam said lowly, “And I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Scared him straight,” Beetlejuice said with a smile. His wrist felt tingly where Adam had touched it, like a semi-permanent electric shock. He gave Adam a wry grin when he said, “I may or may not have involved pointy rocks and cliffs.”

Barbara’s hand rested on Beetlejuice’s shoulder, almost like she was trying to get a point across as she said, “Adam said you two talked about somethings.”

“Yep,” Beetlejuice said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. Barbara pat his shoulder, and he felt pinpricks all the way down his arm.

“I’m glad. I think… I think things can only get better from here.”

“You mean if I stick around long enough,” Beetlejuice said nonchalantly. “I mean. Maybe the door to the Netherworld will unlock. Maybe I’ll go back.”

Barbara gave him a half-amused smile. “You’d leave us? Just like that, Beetlejuice?”

Beetlejuice sighed. “Babs… you are the _hottest_ boring lady I’ve ever known.” He looked at Adam and added, “And you are the sexiest boring dude I’ve ever known. But I’ve got a _job_ to do.”

Adam fidgeted with his hands, a little thoughtful as he said, “It’ll be a lot quieter around here if you decide to leave.”

Barbara nodded. “Who will taste my pesto for flavor when that happens?”

Beetlejuice snorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you guys _want_ me to stay.”

After a few seconds, the Maitlands both nodded. “I suppose we do,” Adam said calmly with that dumb, dorky smile of his. It sent a weird bolt of… _feelings_ … through Beetlejuice. He wasn’t sure what to do with them as Adam said, “It’s nice to have you around, Beetlejuice.”

Beetlejuice grimaced and said, “C’mon. No one wants me around. _My own mom_ doesn’t want me around.”

“Your mother was a bitch,” Barbara snapped, and though Beetlejuice snickered at that, Adam baulked and hissed, “ _Barbara!”_ while Barbara crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “She _was_. There isn’t a nicer way to put it. She threatened _all_ of us because… what? Lydia missed her mother? She wanted to see her? It’s not a crime.”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips. “ _Well_ …”

“The point is!” Adam cut-in gracefully. “We’d be happy if you stuck around. I mean, of course you’re busy. You have ghosts to guide and all… but it’s been nice. Getting to know you and… working with you in the house. It’d be…” Adam shrugged a little. “It’d be lonely to see you just up and leave.”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow, looking between the Maitlands dumbly. “This is… still a weird concept to me. You guys actually want me to stay.”

“Of course,” Barbara said with that genuine little sparkle in her eye. Beetlejuice almost asked if he could kiss her. _Almost_. She would almost absolutely assuredly say no anyway. So, he didn’t. He just gave her a long, baffled stare… and she giggled. “You know, I think I like it when your hair goes pink. It’s soft, but I can see it.”

“My what goes what?” Beetlejuice held a hand to his hair, scratching through the fluffy locks as Adam tilted his head and smiled.

“Hey, _yeah_ , it _does_ go pink! That’s much nicer than the red.”

“Or the blue!” Barbara said with a smile. “You always look so sad when it’s blue.”

“Because I _am sad_ when it’s blue.” The Maitlands both made sad faces and Beetlejuice groaned, “Jesus, you guys are so fucking sweet it’s like a diabetes convention and a candy cane factory had babies.”

While Adam and Barbara laughed, Beetlejuice looked down over the railing. Lydia still had a nice bit of distance between herself and Jacob. They looked at their books, wrote things down, and spoke in low, thoughtful voices. Jacob didn’t reach out. He didn’t even graze her knee. As if she could feel him staring, Lydia lifted her eyes and looked at him. After a moment, she mouthed the words: _Thank you._

Beetlejuice gave her a wink, and she went back to her work. Honestly, for the first friend he’d had in a long, long time… he’d do worse than a threat. He’d kill for Lydia Deetz and wouldn’t feel even a hint of remorse. He was living in this house, happy with the Maitlands and their warmth and encouragement, comfortable with Delia’s misguided attempts at comfort and Charles’ fatherly gaze on him and would kill _anyone_ who tried to come between them. Even if that person was his mother… _again_.

It was like he’d found a new family. A _real_ family, here in the Deetz-Maitland household. With their rules and their boringness and their bad dad-jokes. It wasn’t a house… it was a home. And nothing – _nothing_ – was ever going to ruin that. Not if Beetlejuice could help it.

So he stood guard, watching Lydia and Jacob work on their project as the Maitlands spoke to him about anything and nothing with their soft, sweet voices and their gentle hands. They spoke, and the words were kind. They laughed, and the air was gentle. They touched him, and the feeling lingered, long after they stepped back.

For the first time in a long, long time… Beetlejuice was pretty sure he felt something. Maybe _happiness_. Maybe contentment. Either way, he liked it. And he’d cling to it just as long as he was able.


	5. Come Close, Get Far

The air was dark in the Deetz household on a particular Friday. It was almost disappointing to Beetlejuice; he was normally the one to make things dark and prickly. Now the atmosphere was grating and irritable without him saying a word.

He’d done a quick Guide – one that involved Maria sending another note full of X’s and O’s – and came back to a house full of shadows. He could make the shadows writhe and the windows scream. That would be funny, just to see Delia jump and shriek in alarm… but something stopped him. He stepped through the door to see Lydia and Charles sitting in the living room, quiet and tense.

He shimmied a bit when he stepped into the room, his arms wide as he said, “ _Honey,_ I’m _home!_ ”

Lydia gave him a sidelong look before looking back down at her lap. Charles didn’t say anything. Beetlejuice frowned; _that_ wasn’t much of a greeting. Some part of him felt a little nauseous. What if they had been talking about him while he was gone? What if they were thinking of sending him back to the Netherworld? He shifted his weight between his feet, spotting Adam and Barbara being cute on the stairs, peeking out between the handrails nervously.

As if it just occurred to her, Barbara poked her head up above the rail and said, “Welcome home, Beetlejuice.”

“Thanks, Babs,” Beetlejuice deadpanned as he sauntered to the stairs and sat down on the bottom step. They were watching Lydia and Charles from a safe distance, hiding behind the rails like the bars of a jail cell. Beetlejuice leaned back until his head was leaning against Barbara’s hip – nice and soft, even in death – but with the way she was focused on Charles’ angry face, she didn’t notice the extra weight against her. He reached up to fiddle with the hem of her skirt as he said, “What the fuck is going on down there?”

Adam looked discomforted as he fidgeted with his glasses. “Lydia… well, she had some… drugs. In her backpack.”

Beetlejuice blinked. Drugs? Lydia? No, no, she didn’t carry around drugs. She didn’t do them, either… if she did, they would’ve smoked together _at least_ once. Plus, she wasn’t stupid enough to get _caught_. He sat up, giving the teenager a hard look from across the room. Charles was glowering at her, waiting for her to say something… but Lydia said nothing. Beetlejuice shifted where he sat, more than a little uncomfortable.

Lydia wasn’t a drug-user. He’d been right there, under her bed, with them… and she never said anything about them. There wasn’t even a hint of interest. So why start now? What had changed? Something in the back of his mind raised a red flag. Something that spelled trouble. His tired, dead joints stiffened as he stood from the stairs and wrung his hands.

“What bag?” He asked anyone, getting a half-interested look from Charles. Silence stretched between them, and Beetlejuice huffed. “Dammit, Chuck, don’t start with the silent treatment. I like Daddy-play as much as the next demon, but the quiet game is never sexy.”

Charles grimaced as he leaned forward and held a purple bag aloft. It wasn’t Lydia’s schoolbag. No, it was much worse. It was the bag that she had kicked under her bed, three months earlier. One that she had no doubt forgotten and assumed was lost. The one that Beetlejuice dug through in the middle of the night when he was bored and no one was awake. The one where he stashed cocaine and morphine while Lydia was asleep and dragged it out despite the House Rules that disallowed recreational drugs.

He looked to Lydia, seeing the way her shoulders hunched and eyes glared down at the coffee table. She wasn’t saying a word. She wasn’t denying the implication that it was _her_ bag. Beetlejuice felt something… weird in his chest. Something squirmy and almost painful. Was it guilt? Or just acid reflux? He couldn’t tell.

If anything, Lydia was trying to defend him. She didn’t want Beetlejuice to be forced out of the house because of this… she didn’t want him to be exorcised and permanently expelled from the property. So, she kept her mouth shut, and Beetlejuice… well, it didn’t seem fair that she had to take the fall. It wasn’t right. He was a demon, but he wasn’t _the devil_.

Spreading his hands wide, Beetlejuice shrugged. “Listen, buddy… that’s mine.”

Charles raised his eyebrows, still holding the purple bag with a menacing hand. “This?” he asked, gesturing to the purple bag and sparkling black zipper. “ _This_ is yours?”

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Easy, Kujo; can’t a demon want something sparkly every now and then?”

“It’s _my_ bag,” Lydia said, her teeth gritted, and brow furrowed angrily. She kicked her feet and huffed. “So it’s my stuff.”

Beetlejuice frowned. “Kid, I get that you’re trying to cover for me, but I’m a fucking adult. Big boy pants and everything. Let me take the consequences.”

Something in his chest hurt. It could be that guilt thing he’d been contemplating… but he was starting to lean further and further toward acid reflux. It didn’t make sense that he would start feeling guilty for drugs _now_ of all times. Just because it could get him kicked out of the Deetz house, it didn’t mean he would regret it. He would, however, regret not being able to hang out with Lydia anymore. He frowned and fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves; maybe Lydia could astral project and visit him in the Netherworld. But it wouldn’t be the same as hanging out and messing with other ghosts and living people alike.

Okay, maybe he _would_ regret it. But that was beside the point. He was watching carefully as Charles stood and approached him. He had that dark and angry look to him, all broad shoulders and cleanly-groomed beard as he said, “Mr. Juice, we’ve discussed this.”

“Yup,” Beetlejuice nodded, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“No recreational drugs are allowed in the house.”

Again, Beetlejuice nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“If you can’t follow these rules,” Charles said stiffly, “Then I don’t want you near my daughter.”

Beetlejuice squirmed under the scrutiny, his scalp tingling as he fidgeted. “You don’t know how boring it can be when you’re all asleep at night. There’s _nothing_ to do, you’ve got all these rules… can you blame a guy for looking for some fun?”

From the stairs, Adam stood and said, “Why don’t you just… _sleep_ at night?”

Beetlejuice shot him a look over his shoulder. “I _do_ sleep… sometimes.”

“Maybe you should sleep _every_ night!” Barbara chirped, her hands resting on Adam’s shoulders as she said, “That would be good for you! You always look so tired!”

Beetlejuice frowned hard, his stomach turning as he thought. When he was little, he used to sleep a lot… as often as he could, anyway. He would try to, anyway. Deep in the depths of the Netherworld, he would curl up in piles of decaying bones and dusty roads. He would watch what humans would do when they curled up at night and went to sleep. He would watch them with their blankets and cushions and clam, comfortable faces. He tried it more than once… only to have his mom find him and snap that he was wasting his time.

_“Get your ass off the ground and make yourself useful!”_ She would shout him down into the ground, hands sharp and claws grasping at the roots of his hair as she pulled him up and threw him across the ground. _“Fucking waste of space! You’re not alive! You don’t_ need _sleep! Get up and—_ ”

Beetlejuice shrugged. “Dunno. Never really _needed_ it before,” he lied. “You think making myself sleep _every night_ is better than a good line of coke?”

Lydia laughed a little where she sat giving him an amused look. “Definitely less harmful for your brain.”

Charles nodded and tucked the purple bag under his arm as he said, “That would be a better use of your time, Beetlejuice.” His eyes were sharp as he arched one eyebrow and said, “If I find anything like this in my house again, I _will_ be calling a priest.”

“ _Dad!”_ Lydia whined.

“Yeah _, Dad!”_ Beetlejuice echoed loudly, only laughing when Lydia reached over to whack him. Charles looked unimpressed, but Beetlejuice made a point to give him a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Relax, Chuck. I’ll play nice.”

“Maybe you need to try something cleansing for the soul,” Delia said from the sofa, her legs crossed languidly as she fidgeted with her bracelet. “Like yoga!”

Beetlejuice made a pinched face. “Really? You guys are going to let the lady who _definitely_ smoked pot in college tell me what to do with my drugs?”

“Beetlejuice,” Charles said again, that sharp, insistent tug jabbing just under Beetlejuice’s ribcage as he did so. Beetlejuice looked at him and found a stern expression waiting for him. Those were _never_ any fun. “If you can’t follow the rules that _you agreed to_ , I’ll have to ask you to leave this house.”

On the sofa, Lydia stiffened and sat up a little straighter. “And go _where_?”

“Somewhere else,” Charles said flatly. There was no room for argument. Lydia slouched where she sat… and didn’t protest. Beetlejuice felt something sticky settle in his stomach. Like the time he ate a Tide Pod for Lydia, just to see what would happen. This was less physical… more high-strung. Charles looked at him, and Beetlejuice almost felt… _guilty_. Charles crossed his arms over his chest and said, in so uncertain terms, “If you can’t follow our rules, Beetlejuice, I don’t want you around my daughter. Your pranks and jokes are one thing… but we already have a history of drug issues in this family. I don’t want any more of it. Do you understand?”

Beetlejuice made a face. “It’s… dude, it’s just a little coke. What’s the big—”

“Some people can have _very_ adverse reactions to recreational drugs,” Adam said from where he was hidden behind the rails of the stairs. “I mean… Barbara and I were in college in the 70’s. I think we know, better than most people, how crazy things could get.”

“So she’d get crazy,” Beetlejuice shrugged, a little irritated that this was a Big Deal. “Isn’t that the point?”

“And what if Lydia tried to hurt herself?” Charles asked. Lydia didn’t speak up. She curled in on herself a little bit on the sofa, his arms around her legs holding tight, like she could hide away from the conversation. Charles didn’t stop there. “If these drugs reacted badly with her depression medication? What then?”

Beetlejuice had eaten a mouthful of sand once, long, long ago. His mother said that demons ‘didn’t need to eat’ but he’d been _hungry_ , so he shoveled dirt into his mouth and ruined her bloody Persian carpet when it came back up shortly after. No matter the results, standing there in front of Charles Deetz with that disapproving look on his face, Beetlejuice felt that sandy, dry taste on his tongue. Drugs were just a funny thing he could do as a _demon_ … but if it could hurt Lydia? Maybe… maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe he’d overstepped something important. With a shaky nod, Beetlejuice came back to himself.

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice said after a second of thought. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good,” Charles balled up the backpack in his hand and pushed it against Beetlejuice’s chest. “I want these gone before I come home tonight.”

Without pause, Beetlejuice went to the wall, drew a door, knocked, and when the door to the Netherworld swung open, he tossed the bag inside. The door shut soon afterward. No more drugs in the house. He could do that. At least, if it would keep Lydia safe… it wouldn’t be so bad, going without them. At that, Charles visibly relaxed. His stiff shoulders slumped a little, and he went to grab his coat with a nod of approval.

“Woah!” Lydia sat up and leaned over the back of the sofa. “Aren’t you going to like… go through withdrawals? Or something?”

Beetlejuice made a face. “I’m a demon, Lyds. I don’t work like you do. I’ll miss the tingly feeling, but I’ll be fine. Just got to distract myself.”

Charles was already halfway out the door with Delia as he turned and said, “I’ve got a showing this evening and I’ll be home late.” He looked to the Maitlands. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring Lydia with me?”

Barbara laughed a little. “We’re fine! We love having Lydia with us.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You already have _Beetlejuice_ here… and your date night will be even _less_ private with a teenage girl in the house.”

Lydia pivoted to look at her father. “I can hear you, you know. I’m _right here_.”

This time, Adam laughed. “Really, we _need_ Lydia here. Otherwise we won’t know how to open up the Netflix and watch our date movie.”

Lydia snorted and kicked her feet off the couch. “ _The Netflix.”_

With a few added goodbyes, Delia and Charles finally left to show their house. It left Beetlejuice to lean against the wall next to the Netherworld doorway. Lydia started to set up the TV for Barbara and Adam to watch their ‘romantic movie’ junk. It was going to be one of those classic, romantic, mushy date nights. He almost wanted to plop himself right in the middle of it, throwing his arms around the Maitlands the way he was allowed to, making fun of the movie and making Barbara laugh and Adam roll his eyes. He wanted to sit there, on that sofa, and watch them get all misty-eyed over some period-drama that was more boring than watching dust gather on the bookshelves.

Instead, he turned and tried to walk through the doorway. He was hit in the gut with some sort of energy that resembled a crowbar. He heard a rib _crack_ bitterly as he was thrown back, and when he tumbled backwards into the house, he barely got out a shout before he hit the ground. The door slammed shut at the same time the Maitlands and Lydia turned to look at him.

“Beetlejuice!” Adam shouted, already skirting around the sofa to kneel next to him and help him sit up. “Are you alright? Still locked out, huh? Did you hit your head?”

Beetlejuice growled and scratched a hand through his hair. Adam’s hands were fluttering over his shoulders, trying to pat him down without hurting him. Really, he could slap Beetlejuice in the face and Beetlejuice would _thank_ him. Any of the touch was nice. It left little handprints of feeling through his suitcoat wherever Adam left his hand.

“Beetlejuice?” Adam asked again, another little comforting pat to the shoulder as he asked again, “Did you hit your head?”

“Should we—should we get ice?” Barbara stood behind him, the hem of her dress brushing against Beetlejuice’s back. He could hear the fabric flutter and shift and he had to hold back the urge to lean back against her legs. Her hands went to his hair and he almost _melted_ at the contact; her fingers carded through his hair, brushing through the wild, curling and stuck-up hair with interest. “It looks… Beetlejuice, you’re going gray. Is that bad? Are you okay?”

Beetlejuice took a deep breath, hissed when his muscles stitched and ached, and let out the breath. “I’m good. Just fine. Keep doin’ that.”

“Doing what?” Barbara left her hands in his hair, oblivious and perfect as she stood over him. He leaned back, winced when he felt his ribs twinge, and sighed when Barbara didn’t move away. She let him lean back against her, patting the top of his hair a little as he did. “Now it’s blue… gray… blue… pink. What does pink mean? Beetlejuice, are you embarrassed?”

He closed his eyes and huffed – that was a bad choice. Don’t be dramatic when ribs are broken. “Nah, just… the touching thing. Nice. Distracting.”

“Beetlejuice…” Adam pat his shoulder again, “We heard something… pretty loud. Did something happen?”

“ _Something_.” Beetlejuice snorted – another regretful thing, stop being showy – and gave Adam a sidelong glance. “ _Something_ broke my damn _ribs_ , A-dog.”

Lydia fiddled with the TV remote, obviously unsure what to do with her hands as he said, “So… it hurts?”

“Well, _yeah_. I may be dead, but I’m not _numb_.” When Adam stood up and offered him a hand, Beetlejuice took is and had to refrain from kissing Adam on the way up. He would have to _ask_ first and _asking_ meant he’d get _rejected_ and he didn’t want that. So he turned to Lydia and smiled thinly. “Some pain is less fun than other pain.”

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. “So if I decapitated you—”

“It’d hurt like a bitch, but it sounds like a fun Friday night.”

“You know what?” Barbara asked, clearly eager to change the subject as she took Beetlejuice’s arm and guided him to the sofa. Touch, touch, touch… it felt a little hot along his sleeve where Barbara was pressed against him. Nice. She held his arm a little closer, like she was holding him captive. _Nicer_. With one swift movement, she sat him down on the sofa. “Your hair is a lot softer than I thought it would be!”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow and scratched a hand through his hair quick. “Yeah, I thought so, too. Must be that shampoo stuff.”

Lydia pulled up a movie and gave Beetlejuice a hard look. “You gonna get all weird about your hair now?”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips. “Dunno. I’ve never had a hair-pulling kink before, but if Babs is willing to try, then—"

Barbara clapped her hands. “Let’s just watch the movie, hmm? That would be nice.”

Beetlejuice stiffened. This was their ‘date night.’ He was supposed to make himself scarce for those. The Maitlands were supposed to spend them alone, together, all snuggly and vanilla the way they usually were when people weren’t watching. So why was Barbara sitting next to him? Why was Adam sitting down on his other side? Maybe they felt bad he was thrown back out of the Netherworld. Maybe it was a prank. If it _was_ a prank, he’d be very proud; it would mean they were learning not to be so damn boring.

He shifted a little, looking between them as he gingerly sat back against the couch cushions. Adam said nothing. Lydia started the movie. Barbara didn’t move. This was weird… it was like they didn’t care if he stayed. “Uh, guys? You want me to—”

“I’ve got some homework,” Lydia said before she whacked Beetlejuice upside the head with the remote. He turned his head around 180° just so he could stick his tongue out at her. She stuck her tongue out as she climbed the stairs. “Enjoy your date or whatever… and… Beej, I guess.”

Ah. So Lydia noticed it, too. The Maitlands murmured to themselves, their eyes fixed to the screen as the movie started. It showed a rolling, green countryside accompanied by some emotional, swelling string music. Adam was already misting up at the sight. Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and leaned over – right side hurts, wait until the bones are mended to do that again – and whispered in Barbara’s ear.

“Isn’t this your date thing?” Barbara hummed and nodded. The movie continued. Adam settled back against the sofa. He did that predictable _yawn_ … and draped his arm over the back of the sofa, right behind Beetlejuice. He did it with a _straight face,_ no less. It was comfortable… almost _too_ comfortable. If this was a joke, they were really bad at execution. So he shifted a little, knocking his knee against Adam’s as he said, “This _is_ the date thing, right?”

“Yes, now _shush.”_ Adam held a finger to his lips as he stared, transfixed at the screen. Beetlejuice frowned and pushed himself off the sofa, ignoring the scream of his ribs as he did so.

“Wha—what’s wrong?” Barbara asked in that confused, clueless voice. “Are you leaving?”

Beetlejuice looked at her. “Uh… _yeah_? It’s your date night thing. Why would you want me around for _your_ date night?”

Barbara and Adam both looked at each other. They looked surprised, that the idea of Beetlejuice playing third-wheel hadn’t actually occurred to them. So they sat there, looking baffled by this magical turn events while Beetlejuice made a face.

“Are you guys serious?” He asked, waiting for them to snap and giggle like the dorks that they were. They didn’t. The movie had been completely forgotten, and they sat there, confused and staring at one another.

Normally he wouldn’t pass up a good bit of snuggling with Adam and Barbara, especially when there was one of those mushy movies on TV (they were a guilty pleasure for anyone, dead or alive) but this was… weird. Unusual at best. The Maitlands had only recently started to touch him casually. A hand on his shoulder, a touch of his wrist, taking his hand and pulling him along before, ultimately, dropping it… this was different. This was a whole level of intimacy that shouldn’t be available to him.

They had to be messing with him. Baiting him into breaking the House Rules or something. They were _that_ tired of him. Beetlejuice took a hesitant step back as the Maitlands looked at him. No… no, they weren’t _tired_ of him. They were _mad_ at him. It was about the drugs. It had to be. He was a danger to Lydia, and they _knew_ it. Feeling his mood dampen, Beetlejuice let his expression sour into a dark grimace.

“If you’re trying to get me kicked out of this place, you’re gonna have to try a little harder,” he growled, eying the way Barbara blinked spastically.

“Wha—we’re not—Beetlejuice, are you… are you angry with us?”

Adam sat forward, his hands open and ready as he said, “We weren’t trying to make you uncomfortable! Honestly, I think we just… we forgot that you…”

“What?” Beetlejuice snapped, his voice raised higher than he expected. “You just _what_? Forgot I was _here?_ Forgot that I’m the ‘needy pervert’ like Barbara said? Forgot that I’m the fucking _screw-up_ who is nothing but _a piece of_ _shit?”_

Barbara physically recoiled from that. “That’s… Beetlejuice, no. _No_. that’s not—"

Laughing a little, Beetlejuice took a loose step to the side. “Oh. Oh, it’s not? Not true? ‘Cause _you’re_ the one who said it, Babs!”

“I don’t… don’t remember ever saying that, I—”

“Shut up!” Beetlejuice shouted. It was all excuses. They were going to get him kicked out. They were going to get rid of him. They _knew_ he was helpless. They _knew_ he was crazy about them. And they wanted him _gone_. When he lifted his eyes from the floor, he saw Barbara looking at him and she looked… hurt. Her eyes were watery. Her mouth was set in a thin line. Fear and regret flickered through him, and he wrung his hands a bit before muttering, “Sorry… for yelling, I just…”

“I don’t know what you think we were doing…” Adam said, “But I can tell you, we weren’t trying to hurt your feelings.” Adam’s hands were still held out, like he was offering to take Beetlejuice, sit him down, and talk to him calmly. It didn’t help. It made the deception worse. “We’ve gotten… _very_ used to having you around, Beetlejuice. We’re very comfortable with you. That’s… I think that’s a _good_ thing.”

Beetlejuice frowned a little harder; they had learned to ignore him. They _tolerated_ him.

Jumping to Adam’s defense, Barbara nodded and said, “It’s _true!_ Honestly, I… well, I sat you down because I figured you’d probably want to relax after you tried going through the door, and then… well, then… it just seemed natural that you’d stay with us. You’re… well, you’re _always_ with us, these days.”

_Yeah_ , Beetlejuice thought, _because there was nowhere else to go_.

“Whatever,” he grumbled as he waved a hand. He didn’t stay to hear their excuses… he shot himself to the nearest Guide and felt a tote bag materialize on his shoulder. He didn’t _want_ to be on a Guide. But it was one thing to get him out of the house and away from the Maitlands. The guy had died on an operating table. Simple enough. The ghost was standing outside the hospital, looking baffled.

Only a second later, and a sandworm would’ve come for him.

Sauntering forward, he tossed the tote bag to the ghost (who surprisingly caught it) and drew a door on the nearest wall. One swift kick to the ass later, and a piece of paper was flying out of the doorway.

_Busy, busy! Hope you’re having fun up top. Xoxoxo Maria_

Beetlejuice snarled at that, messily writing a reply.

_Thees chumps are driving me crazee. When can i com back?_

He pressed his thumbprint to the paper and folded it into a little airplane. Those were fun… if not badly folded. He tossed the note through the door… and it swung shut behind it. He didn’t even want to try stepping through. One broken rib was enough for a day, even if it was going to heal in a few hours. No… he was still bitter about the Maitlands. He wanted to scare people… but people in hospitals were almost _always_ already scared. It wouldn’t be much fun to scare low-hanging fruit.

So he found himself back in the Deetz house with a thought, standing in the second-floor hallway with his hands in his pockets and a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to go back downstairs and yell at the Maitlands. To tell them they shouldn’t mess with a guy that had _no chance._ Maybe to tell them it was harsh to kick a demon while he was down. Maybe none of those things. Maybe he just wanted to be there, downstairs, with them. Maybe he _wanted_ to sit-in on their date night and watch their shitty movie. Maybe he was scared to admit that it was nice, just for a moment, that they let him stay.

Because he knew, deep down, they didn’t _actually_ want him there. Not _really_.

So he went to Lydia’s door and pushed it open. She was at her desk, hunched over a book with a bitter look on her face. She didn’t look up when he came in, nor did she say anything as he fell face-first onto her bed. They were quiet for a moment. Just letting their mutual irritation linger in the air before Lydia pushed back her chair and sighed.

“Hey,” she said, almost like she wasn’t sure of herself. Beetlejuice rolled onto his side to look at her, and she looked nervous. No, not nervous… concerned. “Can we talk?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why? Did Adam and Barb come up here and whine to you? Look, I _know_ I had the drugs and it’s against the rules, but I’d never really… _actually_ put you in danger, kid. And they’re buttering me up, trying to get me to slip-up – not in a dirty way, but can you fucking _imagine_? Me, _slipping-up_ all sloppy with Adam? Or Barbs. I’m not picky. I’d like it to be both at the same time – anyway, they’re trying to get me to fuck up so your dad will call a fucking exorcist and I think that’s just a kick to the dick like any motherfucking—”

“Beej.”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.” She fidgeted with her hands, looking back at her desk for a moment before she turned to him. “Look. I just… can we talk? Like. Secret talk.”

Beetlejuice sat up ramrod straight. “Holy shit. _Secret talk_? Like… like a clubhouse. Do we get secret handshakes? We should have a codeword. Mine will be: velocipede. Yours can be: trout.”

With a tight laugh, Lydia rocked back a bit and said, “No… no, Beej, focus. Like… I need you to keep this a secret from my dad.”

Beetlejuice felt something twist in his stomach. Now _that_ was discomfort. “Oh… _kay_? Kid, you’re not… you’re not thinking of jumping off the roof again, are you?” Lydia shook her head, and a little bit of the knotted-up discomfort dissipated. “Alright. Cool, cool… so… what’s up? Is this about the drugs? ‘Cause if you want to try some weed, I could get some…” another shake of Lydia’s head, and Beetlejuice was thoroughly stumped. “Well. I’m fresh out of ideas. What’s up?”

She rubbed her hands together like she was cold and trying very, _very_ hard to forget about it. Like the world would somehow shift and highlight her in warmth if she just thought really hard. It didn’t, and she remained jittery and shivery where she looked around the room. The wall, the ceiling, the poster board filled with her ghost-photographs of the Maitlands… anywhere but at Beetlejuice.

Oh. _Oh no_. She was going to tell him something _bad_. She was going to say she wanted him to leave. His mom had never beat around the bush. It was always straight-forward. _“Get out, you’re wasting my time, stop bothering Maria and make yourself useful—”_ When she wanted him gone, she said so. Maybe Lydia was trying to be nice. Maybe she wanted to spare his feelings rather than saying it in front of her father. She _knew_ Beetlejuice was down on his luck… that’s why _hating him_ would have to be kept on the downlow.

“Beej? Beej. Beej, you’re going blue.”

“What?” Beetlejuice blinked hard and passed a hand through his hair. “I’m going what?”

Lydia rocked in her chair a little. “Blue… and purple. Kind a mix. Are… are you okay? You were purple when we first met. Weren’t you like… bummed, or something?”

Beetlejuice blinked; when he’d first met Lydia, he was on the roof, hiding from the Maitlands. He was sad… and _lonely_. He’d wanted to stay with them. To show them how to _really scare_ … but they were hopeless. Too polite. Too nice. And really, they didn’t want him around. _Nobody_ wanted him around. It only made him more bitter in the end.

Leaning forward a little, Lydia kicked her feet under her chair, her lacy black stockings brushing against the carpet as she said, “Beej? Did something happen with Adam and Barb?”

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Beetlejuice waved his hands in the air dismissively. “Psssh, _what?_ Stuff? Happening? With Adam and Barb? If anything _was_ happening, I’d tell you. I’d be all over it. Whipped-cream and fuzzy handcuffs and everything.”

“Beetlejuice,” Lydia said sharply. Beetlejuice gave a startled grunt when the sound tugged under his ribcage and his broken rib gave a hollow twinge. He managed to smother the wince, but Lydia was still looking at him. Really, she had to be looking at his hair. It must’ve still been blue. “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s fine, I just…”

“Nah, nah. Tell me your super-duper secret,” he said thinly. He knew… he _knew_ she was just going to tell him how awful he was. It was going to hurt. But he could take it. He was a _demon_ after all. He’d been rejected more than once… and this was just another time to add onto the pile.

“Okay,” Lydia said, mostly to herself. Did she really need to psych herself up to admit she hated him? Apparently, she did. She braced her hands on her knees, took deep breath, and let it out slow. She was stalling. That didn’t make it any better. On the third deep breath, she quietly whispered: “ _I think I like girls.”_

One slow blink later, and Beetlejuice found Lydia staring at him, gauging his reaction. Well… she didn’t say she _hated_ him. This was something else entirely. She was _confiding_ in him. Whatever that was worth. Really, he didn’t understand why sex and gender was such an _issue_ with breathers. But they liked it. They liked their labels and their boxes, and they liked to fit things in neat little rows so they didn’t feel alone. He could respect that. He liked not being alone. Maybe… maybe Lydia was just figuring out which box she liked best.

“Cool,” Beetlejuice said after a long minute. Lydia stared at him, and he struggled for words. Having nothing better to say, he gestured to himself and said, “I like girls, too. And guys. Really, anyone. I’m not picky.”

“No,” she said, like he needed clarification. “I mean… I don’t… I don’t like _… boys_ …”

He slapped his knee and nodded officially. “Good for you. Guys are gross.”

Lydia let out a laugh at that one. “ _You’re_ a guy.”

“Eh… most of the time,” Beetlejuice shrugged and leaned back on his elbows, enjoying the plushness of Lydia’s mattress as she looked over at him, amused. “Not that I don’t like our whole Secret Club – which totally deserves a tree house, by the way – but… why is it a secret again?”

Fidgeting a little, Lydia turned in her spinning chair, going in a lazy circle as she said, “My mom… my dead mom? She… she told me it was totally okay to like anyone. That if I ever… had questions… I could talk to her.” Beetlejuice didn’t say anything… and Lydia went on. “Dad… he’s trying really hard. I can tell. I just…” she kicked the floor and spun a little faster, like the speed would help get the words out. “I just don’t know if he’d understand this.”

Beetlejuice quirked an eyebrow. “Well. You’ve already got two ghosts and a _demon_ living under your roof, Lyds. I think he can handle a little girl-on-girl action.”

Lydia abruptly stopped spinning, her eyes on her desktop as she said, “I don’t know.”

Sitting up a little, Beetlejuice gave Lydia a considering look. “Ya know who would _totally_ be cool with it? Darla. I bet cold, hard cash that she’s done some freaky shit with guys, gals, and anyone in-between.”

Lydia snorted a laugh, and a bit of the tension left the air. “Gross.”

With a wide grin, Beetlejuice laid back again. “And, just sayin’… Adam and Barb died in the 80’s. Prime sexuality exploration there, babes. They wouldn’t give a _shit_ who you brought home… as long as they treat you right. Adam would probably do that Dad Thing where he’s all… ‘what are your intentions’ and you’ll be all ‘I intend to smash, daddy-o.’”

That earned Beetlejuice a pillow to the face and a muffled, “Shut up!” He laughed at that, tossing the pillow on the floor as Lydia stood up and came to sit on the bed next to him. The bed dipped and he gave her an amused look. She still looked uncertain… but there was a coolness about her. One that spelled relief. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being cool about it.”

Beetlejuice snorted and rolled onto his stomach so he could kick his legs back and forth dramatically. “Aw, _hell_ no. You can’t just thank me and be done with it. I want _details_ , Lyds. Who was it? Who gave you your sexual awakening? Was it a hot teacher? The cheerleading captain? Oh, oh! _Was it a girl with a motorcycle?”_

Rolling her eyes a little, Lydia squirmed and said, “Well… actually, her name is Wednesday—”

“The chick with the serial killer book?” Lydia nodded, and Beetlejuice grinned. “I like her already.” While Lydia brushed her hair into her eyes to avoid Beetlejuice’s wry smile, he nudged her insistently. “ _So_ … is she cute? Like dead things? Strange? Unusual?”

Lydia laughed and batted his hands away. “Yeah, she’s… yeah. She’s pretty unusual. In like… the _best_ way. She’s really cute. Like… she looks like she could stab you, and you’d thank her.”

Beetlejuice nodded appreciatively. “ _Hot_.”

Lydia blushed and fidgeted with her skirt. “Let’s change the subject.” Beetlejuice whined a little, but that didn’t stop her from saying, “Hey, about the Maitlands—”

Beetlejuice frowned. “Don’t ask.”

“—what happened them?” she asked anyway, like the predictable teenager she was. Beetlejuice almost wanted to talk about it. _Almost_. But not quite. It wasn’t that easy to admit the Maitlands were trying to get him kicked out of the house. So, with a bitter frown, he simply repeated:

“Don’t ask.”

+++++

“What… what on _earth_ was that?” Adam asked incredulously. Beetlejuice had left in a puff of green smoke. The movie was still playing. The sound was getting irritating. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to turn it off and look at Barbara. “What did we say? What did we do?”

“I… I don’t know?” Barbara wrung her hands and looked around. Maybe he’d come back if they waited. Both of them were quiet for a long moment, staring at the space where Beetlejuice had been standing just a second before. When he didn’t come back, Barbara let out a tired sigh. “He… he said we were trying to get him kicked out. How… how would we get him kicked out?”

Adam started to pace, a hand to his forehead as he thought. “I mean… we weren’t making him break any rules, were we? No, he got rid of the drugs himself. It wasn’t like we were asking for any, anyway!”

“It’s not late enough to be past the noise curfew,” Barbara added, still a little unsure as she sat back down on the sofa. It was alarming, this whole outburst with Beetlejuice. Clearly, his thoughts had gotten away from him. Assumption piled upon assumption… but what had he been thinking? What had he _assumed_? After a moment, it clicked. “We were touching him. We were sitting with him on the sofa.”

“No. No, that… no, that can’t be it.” Adam stopped in his tracks to give Barbara a baffled look. “We talked to him about consent. He knows what it means now.”

Barbara looked at him helplessly. “Maybe he thought we were trying to… I don’t know… goad him into something? Adam, I don’t…” she paused and held her hand to her lips. “Why… why _did_ we let him stay? This is our date night.”

Adam gestured with his hands uselessly. “Well. You know… _you know_ , we were… I just…” He paused, his brow furrowed, and he let out a thoughtful, “ _Huh_.”

“I just… _assumed_ he’d stay down here with us,” said Barbara, the words surprising her when they left her mouth. Adam looked at her, almost looking confused, and she could only shrug. “It felt _natural_ to have him right there.”

“It… it kind of _did_ , didn’t it?” Adam laughed, but the sound was tight. Uncomfortable. “Reminds me of… back in college, with…”

“Lucas,” Barbara said softly.

She remembered their relationship with Lucas. It was hard to forget. Poly relationships weren’t uncommon when they were in college. The rules were different for every couple, and even _with_ their pre-agreed rules… Lucas had crossed a line. Really, Lucas nearly destroyed their relationship altogether. He’d pulled Barbara away from Adam. Started to cut him off from everything; touch, communication, even just _seeing_ one another… it had been a slippery slope.

This was nothing like that, though. Obviously, it wasn’t.

“It was nice,” Adam said after a minute. Barbara looked up at him, a little startled, only to see Adam waiting for her with a smile. “Having another person with us. Someone we were… _comfortable_ with. The two of us.”

“Yeah,” Barbara nodded a little. That was one thing they agreed on in college; they all had to be on equal footing. If there was a third person added to the relationship, they would all be included. Lucas hadn’t liked that rule. It wasn’t for him… so he left to find satisfaction somewhere else, and Barbara wished him the best… far, far away from them. But Beetlejuice? Oh, it was clear that Beetlejuice enjoyed both of them. From his words, his hands, and those _eyes that followed Barbara wherever she went_ … it was obvious. Barbara blinked and took a breath. “Adam?”

He looked nervous. “Yeah?”

“I think…” she paused, thinking hard about what she wanted to say… and then let the words drop. “I don’t know. I mean, its nothing we can deal with right now, I just—”

“Beetlejuice?” He asked, his voice a little soft where he stood worrying his hands. Barbara nodded.

“Beetlejuice.”

“Oh, _thank god_ ,” Adam let out a breath and held a hand to his chest. When Barbara openly stared at him, Adam let out an uneasy laugh and said, “It’s not just me! At first, I thought I was just… _getting used_ to him. But now I’m worried when he goes out on a guide and comes back all blue. I keep wondering where he is—”

“And if he’s safe!” Barbara finished as she shook her hands and stood up to meet Adam halfway. They held each others hands and leaned close, their foreheads touching as they thought for a moment. “You know, when he first popped into our lives, he gave me the creeps… but now it’s like having an eccentric roommate.” They laughed at that, and Barbara added, “He’s still rough around the edges.”

Adam chuckled. “A little scruffy. But… gentler than he used to be.”

“I think… now that everyone can see him, he doesn’t have to _try_ so hard.”

“He’s still a troublemaker.”

“Of _course_ … but a loveable troublemaker.” Barbara felt Adam squeeze her hands, and she kissed him quick before pulling him into a hug. “Hey. You know that I love you, right? So, _so_ much.”

Adam chuckled. “I do. I know… and I love you, too. Just… let’s just… keep talking to me, okay? Don’t leave me out of the loop. We don’t want another Lucas.”

“No,” Barbara agreed where she had her nose pressed to Adam’s shoulder. They held each other a little tighter, as if they needed to prove a point before Barbara said, “We don’t even know if it’ll go anywhere. But if it _does_ … we’ll definitely talk.”

+++++

When Charles Deetz came home, it was to a quiet house. The Maitlands were on the sofa and had presumedly fallen asleep after their movie. The TV was dark, the heat was cranked high, and there was the soft sound of Lydia’s music filtering down from her bedroom. Taking off his and Delia’s coats, he looked around the room with a careful eye.

“I’m surprised nothing burned down while we were gone.”

Delia laughed softly, careful not to wake the ghosts on the sofa as she pulled off her heels. “It’s not like we left Lydia alone with a wild animal, Charles! Besides. The energy in this house has _definitely_ leveled out. Can’t you feel it?”

Charles gave her a strained smile. He _wanted_ to understand the ‘energy’ business. But it didn’t quite _click_ in his head. Nevertheless, he supported her and nodded along. “Things are more relaxed, I suppose. Less… wild screaming.”

“More laughter! You know, Otho always used to tell me that laughter helps cover up the crying because _no one wants to hear that_.” She paused, her fingers brushing over the low-cut neckline of her black and white dress. “Now that I say it, it sounds a little condescending.”

Charles kissed her cheek. “I like it when _you_ say things, dear. Not Otho.”

“Agreed,” Adam said from the sofa, his voice heavy with sleep. Barbara was still spread on top of him, heavy and snoring a little while Adam shifted and sighed. “Welcome home. How was the showing?”

“We sold a house!” Delia announced loudly, startling Barbara awake. She sat up a little, looked down at Adam… and laid back down, seemingly content. Adam pat her back as Charles headed for the stairs.

“I think _I_ sold a house, but you’re getting much better at showings,” said Charles gently. “I should take you with me more often.”

“Either way, we should have a drink to celebrate!” Delia was already cracking out a bottle of champagne by the time Charles made it up the stairs, and he heard the _clink_ of the glasses as he went to Lydia’s room.

She was listening to her music again, that heavy, thudding bass that made the floorboards rattle if she turned it up too loud. He’d have to ask her to put on her headphones before the hour came too late. With a hand raised, to knock, Charles paused when he heard Beetlejuice’s voice.

“—I feel like they just don’t _get it_ , you know? Like. They’re _right there_ , all soft and _Maitland-y_. And you just wanna grab them and ruffle them up, you get me?”

Lydia’s voice was a little harder to hear over the music. “Kinda? I don’t know. I’ve never had a crush on _two people_ at once.” There was a pause where Beetlejuice grumbled something Charles couldn’t hear. Lydia’s voice was gentle on the response. “Beej, they were just comfortable with you. They don’t want to kick you out. You’re just being paranoid.”

“My mom was a demon, Lyds. Of _course_ I’m paranoid. Every time she was nice, she turned on me in a hot fucking second and slammed me into the ground. Literally.”

There was a long, discomforting pause, and Charles rapped his knuckles against the door and poked his head into the room. “We’re home. I hope you two managed to stay out of trouble.”

What he saw was a vision of relief. No severed limbs, no summoning circles… Lydia and Beetlejuice were sitting on the floor, painting their nails. Really, Lydia was painting Beetlejuice’s nails an interesting, sparkly shade of purple while Beetlejuice shook his other hand wildly to dry it. Once her father spoke, Lydia lifted her head from her work and smiled.

“Hey, Dad.”

Beetlejuice grinned and echoed, “ _Hey, Dad_ ,” in a perfect mimicry of Lydia’s voice. Charles let out a world-weary sigh and leaned against the doorframe tiredly.

“Well, I have _two_ children now.” He looked at Lydia and gave her a tired smile. “Your mother would be shocked.”

Lydia nodded and gestured for Beetlejuice’s other hand. He was still shaking the first one dry, so he pulled out a third hand and gave it to her. She immediately began painting as he said, “Are Adam and Barb still downstairs?” She glanced at Beetlejuice. “I’m asking for a friend.”

Charles raised an eyebrow and pulled at his tie calmly. “They’re on the sofa. Why?” Beetlejuice continued to flap his hands with a pinched expression, and Lydia didn’t say anything. She simply focused on her nail-painting, only glancing at Beetlejuice every few seconds, like she had to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear. He stayed, of course. Charles knew that Lydia meant the most to Beetlejuice… but his hair darkened to a frustrated, deep blue. “Did something happen while Delia and I were away?”

“Nah,” Beetlejuice said quickly – a little too quickly. He pulled out another hand and started chewing his nails uneasily. “They were just getting’ too chummy.”

“Chummy,” Charles repeated.

“Cozy,” Beetlejuice grumbled.

“ _Cozy_ ,” Charles echoed, thoroughly confused. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assumed you _enjoyed_ spending time with Adam and Barbara.”

Beetlejuice turned to him, the tips of his purple hair going red with frustration. “Yeah, and it’s their date night. You want me to crash that? Didn’t know you saw me as _that much_ of a jackass, Chuck.”

Charles made a face and fidgeted with his tie, folding it over his hand as he thought. “Somethings got you in a bad mood this evening, Mr. Juice. And I won’t press it. I’m not… the best when it comes to these things.”

Beetlejuice hummed and tucked the forth arm back behind himself. It didn’t reappear. Instead, he looked a little melancholy, his hair fading from that deep, deep blue to a softer periwinkle as he watched Lydia paint. “Just pissed off at myself, Chuck. Don’t take me seriously. No one does anyway.”

From the hallway, Delia leaned into the room and said, “I think the Maitlands take you seriously. More than Lydia does, hey-o!” She tipped the champagne back and took a drink. Charles took the bottle from her before she could spill. Beetlejuice laughed, though, and his hair lightened back to its usual, spunky green. Like she knew what this meant, Delia leaned against Charles and smiled at Beetlejuice. “See? Everything’s fine. You’re just all in your own head, worried about it. What you need to do… is just lay it all out. Make it clear. Use the words.”

“Use the words,” Beetlejuice repeated with an amused chuckle.

Delia took Charles’ arm and pulled him away from the door with a smile. He followed, of course, bidding Lydia ‘goodnight’ before he was pulled into the bedroom. Once the door was closed, Delia’s smile drooped, and she looked fairly sober. “Adam and Barbara looked a little sad.”

Charles made a face. “Did they? They seemed completely normal to me.”

Delia gave him a hard look. “And that’s why _I’m_ the life coach and _you_ are the realtor.”

With a fond laugh, Charles hung up his tie and went to brush his teeth. “Honestly, even if they _were_ upset… so was Beetlejuice.”

Delia was sitting on the bed and working on letting her hair down when she said, “Do you think they fought?”

“What would they fight about?” He asked through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Who’s better at haunting?”

“Beetlejuice is, obviously.” Delia dropped her hands into her lap and sighed. “I hope they’re okay. Maybe we should perform a cleansing ritual.”

“Cleansing ritual?” Charles spat and looked over his shoulder at Delia. “I’d think talking would serve them just fine, too.”

Delia smiled over at him, reaching for the champagne bottle he’d set aside. “And you really think he’ll go down there and talk to them himself?”

+++++

“I’m gonna go down there and talk to them,” Beetlejuice said for the fifth time. After the third time, Lydia had climbed into bed, pulled up the covers, and turned off the lights. Now, he was hiding under her bed, occasionally saying that he was going to leave. Clearly, Lydia didn’t believe him. “I’m leaving. In a second.”

“Sure,” Lydia grumbled and rolled over. “Tell me when you actually leave.”

He frowned… but couldn’t exactly fight her. She was right. He was scared. He didn’t want to go down there and _face the consequences._ Facing consequences was never fun. Not even in the Netherworld. You get your mom eaten by a sandworm _one time_ and you’re locked out of the Netherworld for who-knows-how-long? Not exactly a prime use of his time. He could say he was going to see the Maitlands and instead go for a Guide… but he’d have to come back to the house in the end.

There was nowhere else to go.

So he stayed where he was, stewing and silent as Lydia fell asleep. The Maitlands were sure to go to bed soon. They were boring enough to still to their curfews. If he wanted to talk to them, he’d better do it fast… but that was easier said than done. To talk, or not to talk… it would be easier to just melt into the floorboards and pretend he never existed.

“Beej,” Lydia said after a minute. Beetlejuice hummed, and she shifted a little. “I’m glad you listened to me today. And… I feel a little better? About the whole… Wednesday thing. So… I’ll just say it. The Maitlands don’t hate you. No one _hates_ you. All the stuff you’re worried about? It’s in your head.”

Beetlejuice said nothing, and Lydia settled in to sleep. The room went quiet aside from her slow, even breathing. And when he slinked out from under the bed, he saw the glowing star-shaped stickers on the ceiling. Lydia was the smartest Breather he knew. So if she said all that… it had to be true, didn’t it? Unless she was just humoring him and this was all going to blow up in his face.

Either way, he snuck out of the room, up the stairs, and let himself into the attic.

Adam and Barbara were getting ready for bed like the predictably boring people they were, and when they heard the _creak_ of the door on its hinges, they dropped what they were doing. Adam had his flannel pajamas on. Barbara was all done-up in her nightgown. They looked exceedingly comfortable and Beetlejuice felt… out of place.

“So,” he said, swinging his hands back and forth. Adam looked at his hands, and Beetlejuice held them up for display. “Lydia gave me a rockin’ manicure.”

Adam smiled, and it seemed genuine. “It looks nice.”

Stepping forward, Barbara wrung her hands and said, “Beetlejuice, we didn’t mean to—”

Beetlejuice nodded. “I know.”

Adam was quick to add on, “We weren’t trying to get rid of you. Honestly, we just wanted—”

Again, Beetlejuice mumbled, “I know.”

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara said softly, her arms outstretched. “Can I just… give you a hug?”

There wasn’t a moments hesitation before Beetlejuice wrapped himself in Barbara’s arms and held tight. She smelled like lavender soap and her fancy, textile paints. Her arms wrapped around him and it felt _good_ but not enough, but he wouldn’t dare step back. Not now. Now when he had her right there with him. When she rubbed his back, he buried his face in the crook of her neck to hide the tortured look on his face; she didn’t need to see what this did to him. What _actually, willingly_ being touched did to him.

“I’m sorry we upset you,” she said, like it even mattered anymore. It didn’t. Not to Beetlejuice. They could lie to him any day. Get him kicked out a thousand times. He wouldn’t care, just as long as he got a hug, just like this. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Wasn’t scared,” Beetlejuice snorted. “Just thought you two were… I dunno. Playing me, I guess.”

“I don’t know if we’re even capable of that!” Adam laughed a little. With one short step, he was right next to them, his arms wrapped around Beetlejuice and Barbara and holding them all together in a tight group hug that made Beetlejuice want to weep with joy. They were _both_ right there. Hugging him. _On purpose_. And when Adam spoke, his breath washed over Beetlejuice’s ear and he _swore_ that he was going to burn alive in that feeling. “We’re glad to have you here, Beetlejuice. I’m sorry if we made you think otherwise.”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever,” Beetlejuice held tight, enjoying Barbara’s arms around his waist and Adam’s arms around his shoulders. It left a tingly, itchy feeling wherever they touched, like he was going numb… but it was a welcome weight. Something he’d been missing for hundreds of years. Who knew physical contact would feel so good? He hid his face in Barbara’s shoulder and grumbled, “Just… let me hang on for a little while.”

Barbara and Adam both laughed a little, and when Barbara spoke, it was dripping with something Beetlejuice hadn’t heard in a long time: _affection._ “Of course, Beetlejuice. As long as you want.”

“Careful how you say that, Babs,” Beetlejuice snickered, “You’re never gonna get rid of me.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Adam rested his head on Beetlejuice’s shoulder and sighed, “Because we don’t want you to go anywhere.”


	6. More than Enough

Beetlejuice hadn’t been gone long. Honestly, he’d only left do a quick Guide and keep Juno off his back. Not that she would even care about him... and hopefully it would last, this whole “locked out of the Netherworld” business. It was nice being away from the severed limbs, bloody faces, and gray-skinned angry folks of the Netherworld. There were far too few pleasant people… and if there were, they wandered off before he could properly get to know them.

So, this was better. Being in the company of Adam and Barbara for long stretches of the day with their more frequent touches and gestures, and when Lydia came home from school, several hours of bothering her while she did her homework. He had attempted to understand the mathematics, but the letters and numbers jumbled on the page too much to really read it. He settled for folding bad paper-airplanes while she worked. He had _comfort_ in the Deetz household, something he hadn’t really been given in the Netherworld. He was accepted – if not uncertainly – and encouraged to sit with them at meals, discuss his work as a Guide, and hang out with Lydia when she had time.

It was weird, having a nice place to go home to. A _good_ weird, but weird nonetheless. Of course, he wanted to believe the Maitlands when they said they wanted him… but he was nothing if not gullible. And he _knew_ that. So it was still a learning curve, getting used this new ‘daily routine’ (and doing it all without the fun-sparking addition of drugs). It was becoming routine; dealing with his work and going back to the house and frittering his time away. He liked it, though. A job or two every day and then he goes home to them. Quick and easy, like his favorite kind of handjob – though Guides could sometimes take much, much longer.

All in all, it took maybe an hour. Two hours tops. Just to get the paperwork signed, scribble a little ‘wish I were dead’ joke to Maria in the margins, and get the hell out of dodge before too many breathers saw him. Despite the length of time he was gone, when he returned… it was quiet. Too quiet for an evening at the Deetz house. Lydia should be home from school, things should be… well, _lively_.

But the house was dark and silent when he returned. Where was the noise? The drone of the TV, Lydia complaining about a school project, Delia rearranging the furniture for feng shui, or Adam and Barbara being irritably adorable? None of that was happening. It was like someone had died. (That joke is funny if he says it in his head, but the joke always falls flat when said out loud).

Even so, he chuckled to himself as he made a round of the first floor. The rooms were dark — great shadows for creeping and scaring — and, presumably, this meant everyone was asleep. So why was there a restless energy in the air, one that signified oncoming doom?

He saw Lydia’s school uniform — a blazer and a black skirt — laid on the back of the sofa, freshly laundered. He frowned; why did it need to be cleaned specially? It wasn’t like her seasonal holiday had started yet. No, she said it would come in a week, and they could go nuts with Christmas and Hanukah celebrations… but this wasn’t on the schedule. The house was quiet. Not even a peep came from the attic. Beetlejuice felt his skin crawl — a new kind of crawling that didn’t involve actual spiders crawling in the lining of his suit. Something was wrong.

He walked up the stairs — which, mind you, was a pain in the ass. Who invented stairs? A jackass, that’s who. One with no respect for the tired joints of the dead. Usually, Lydia was up late at night, reading or listening to music. He remembered their late-night readings and seances, laughing at her terrible Latin and poorly drawn pentagrams. He remembered peeking over her shoulder and watching her go through candid ghost-photos of the Maitlands; Barbara brushing her hair, Adam standing by the window, the two of them together, heads bowed close and smiles on their lips. He remembered a lot of things when it came to his best friend... but it all came down to the glow of her bedroom light seeping into the hallway.

There was no light tonight.

It almost made him want to steal a watch or a phone; something to tell him what time of day it was while he was off doing his damn job. But he was getting “better.” Whatever that was worth. No stealing, no scaring people with pacemakers, no kicking the mean goose in the park, no throwing angry, recently kicked geese at the elderly, et cetra. It was all so he could keep staying there and hanging out with Lydia. And it wasn’t so bad, this... “good” thing. It made him feel a little shiny inside. Which was probably stupidly optimistic for a demon. Juno would tell him that in a nonexistent heartbeat.

He was startled out of his thoughts when a light _clicked_ on. Lydia’s bedroom light, to be precise. He froze at the top of the stairs; had he been talking to himself again? Had he woken her up? Dammit, what time was it... the House Rules said no loud noises after midnight.

He jumped when a door slammed. But not her bedroom door... the bathroom? Finally, he winced when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. Ice settled into his blood. Was Lydia sick? Sickness was bad. He’d been the plague _and_ consumption. He’d watched it spread like wildfire. His job had been, in a words, _lively_ for many years.

That fact wasn’t comforting in the least.

Rushing for her door, he wrenched it open. She was still in the bathroom when he found her, hunched over the toilet with raven hair making a curtain over her face. Her black nightgown flared out on the floor... she looked, for all intents and purposes, defeated. He felt anxiety kick into high gear.

“Lyds?” He said, alarmed by how fragile his voice sounded. She twitched and turned toward him, using a shaky hand to push her hair from her eyes. He swallowed thickly. “You... you okay, kid?”

Lydia blinked sluggishly. “Hey, Beej. Welcome back.”

He gave a weak salute. “Hi. Answer the question.”

Lydia flushed the toilet and pushed herself back into her feet, swaying a bit before she managed to stumble to the sink. “I’m good... gettin’ it out of my system, I guess.”

Beetlejuice went rigid where he stood. “No. No, you shouldn’t. You need blood _inside_ you. Blood loss is like... one of the major things that kills you breathers.” Lydia was rinsing out her mouth and giving him an odd look. Her eyes were cloudy with fever. He tried to emphasize the danger she was in, his expression stern as he said, “Throwing up blood is bad.”

Lydia spat and looked at him again, all dizzy and uncomprehending. “Okay? I’m not throwing up blood though.”

“Not yet.”

“That’s cryptic,” she snickered. He didn’t laugh. She gave him a fever-addled smile. “Really, it’s chill, Beej. Probably just a bug.”

A bug? Was she hallucinating? Beetlejuice held up two fingers. “How many fingers, kid?” Lydia flipped two middle fingers, and he couldn’t help but laugh at that. Even so... the shine of sweat was on her forehead. She was pale as death — he would know — and looked ready to collapse. Had she always been that skinny? Consumption moved quick. At best, she had a few days... if that. “Lydia, seriously, how long have you been sick?”

Lydia blinked slowly. “Dunno. Felt gross when I came home. Can I lay back down now?”

“What? Oh.” He stepped out of the doorway and watched her shuffle back to bed and carefully tuck herself into the blankets. He hovered next to her, more than a little afraid as he said, “Have you been coughing?”

She squinted up at him. “What?”

“Coughing, Lydia. Have you been coughing?”

She frowned and sniffled. “A little... but I’ll be okay.”

No. No she was not going to be okay. This wasn’t something that could just be waited out. Tuberculosis was cruel. It hurt. He didn’t want Lydia to feel that pain. He glanced toward the hallway, keen on demanding Charles to take her to the hospital... only to pause when Lydia’s laugh, soft and tired, rang through the air.

“Your hair is white... someone scare the color out of it?”

He touched his hair without thinking, a nervous smile on his face as he sputtered, “Ye-yeah. Got the fright of my fucking life.”

She closed her eyes. “You’re dead.”

“That’s the joke, Babes.”

“It’s not funny,” she smiled.

“ _You’re_ not funny,” he snapped back. She didn’t respond. His throat felt tight. He sat on the edge of her bed and carefully shook her shoulder. “Lyds... Lydia?”

She sniffled and cracked open her eyes to look at him. “What?”

“Don’t die, kid,” he said, desperate for her to hang on despite the odds. She gave him a befuddled look, and he said, “You’ve got something great. Family, love, all that shit. You don’t want to leave this. And that Wednesday girl? Wait a few years and you guys can do all the kinky shit. I bet fifty bucks that hair-pulling is involved.”

Her eyes went wide. “Beetlejuice!”

“Just don’t die,” he said again, insistent and firm as he gripped her shoulder. “Don’t let this beat you.”

Now her face scrunched back up in confusion. “Oh... kay? It’s just a bug, BJ. I’m not dying.”

All his old friends had said that. They all thought they would be the one to survive. They thought they would trump the odds. Standing up, Beetlejuice marched through the wall and into Charles and Delia’s bedroom. Luckily, they were asleep. If it were any other day, he might be glad to observe whatever weird shit Delia was into. This evening was different.

He snapped his fingers and all the lights turned on, followed immediately by Charles and Delia groaning in confusion.

“Chuck,” he said, dark and warning. Charles sat up immediately, alarmed to see Beetlejuice standing at the foot of his bed.

“Beetlejuice, what—"

“If you don’t get that kid to a hospital,” Beetlejuice growled, effectively stopping Charles mid-sentence. “And get her back to normal, I will make your life a living hell.”

The lights flickered. Moans echoed in the wood. Below it all, rats could be heard squeaking and scratching at the bridge between this world and the next. Delia whimpered, grabbing Charles’ arm anxiously.

Raising his hands in surrender, Charles said, “Mr. Juice, please—"

“Don’t be cute!” Beetlejuice snarled, the light fixture in the bathroom exploding in a spray of sparks as his fisted hands shook with fear. “Lydia is _dying_ and you’re just going to sit on your ass?”

Charles blinked in confusion. “Dying? She’s just got a stomach bug—"

“What is it with you people and bugs?” Beetlejuice exclaimed, stopped, and looked at them oddly. “This is bullshit, considering I’m the one who normally messes with bugs.”

“Beetlejuice, please,” Delia said calmly, despite the weeping shadows and twisting shapes on the walls. “Lydia is _not_ dying.”

For a moment, Beetlejuice felt his confidence waver. The moans paused and the shadows hesitated to writhe. “But... but she’s throwing up. And coughing. It’s just,” he shook a bit, “Just a matter of time ‘til she coughs up blood. And chokes on her own sick. I’ve seen it,” he assured them with a frown. “ _I’ve seen it._ It’s not pretty.”

As if this explained some hidden truth, Delia took a breath and nodded. “You think she’s got some deadly disease.”

Beetlejuice reeled back and away from her soft, motherly tone. “The fuck— some disease. _Some disease?_ Everyone has heard of consumption. Or tuberculosis. Take your pick of names.”

Delia had the gall to smile and shake her head tiredly. “It’s not tuberculosis. And I promise, if it was, we’d take her to the hospital.”

Beetlejuice shook where he stood, a little at a loss for how to proceed. “But... b-but—"

“It’s a stomach bug,” Charles repeated sternly as he reached over and turned off the flickering bedside lamp. “Just a virus. She just needs plenty of rest and she’ll be fine.” Beetlejuice opened his mouth to disagree, but Charles held up a hand to cut him off. “Beetlejuice, believe me. I lost my Emily to illness. I don’t take it lightly. I know when to get professionals involved.”

Twitching where he stood, Beetlejuice frowned and looked around. What was he supposed to do now? Maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t dying. But, god, what if they were wrong? What if Lydia was withering away moment by moment? What if she was dead by morning? What if he believed them and she died and it was all his fault?

“Beetlejuice,” Charles said, deep and calm amid the slowly shrinking shadows. “Fix the light in the bathroom, please.”

Beetlejuice blinked. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He waved a hand and the lightbulb was back and shining. Charles and Delia stared at him. He stared at them. Silence stretched them thin. After a minute, Beetlejuice shifted where he stood and grumbled, “You really think she’s fine?”

“I do,” said Charles. Then, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Are _you_ alright?”

Beetlejuice flinched at the question. “Why the hell would you ask that?”

“Your hair.” Charles gestured pointedly. “It was red when you came in. Turned white. Now it’s... purple? Violet?”

“Indigo,” Delia supplied. Charles nodded affirmatively.

“Ah. That’s it. You’re right, darling,” he nodded and patted the blankets with an air of finality. “Indigo.”

Shifting his weight between his feet, Beetlejuice looked around the room. “Well. I mean... if it’s not tuberculosis, I guess...”

“She’s okay,” Delia promised gently. Beetlejuice wanted to believe her. She looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. And repeated, “She’s okay. Just let her sleep, and she’ll recover.”

They promised this many times. They reminded him of the house rules. They promised that Lydia would be fine once more... and then they bid him goodnight.

Beetlejuice didn’t relax, though. No, no, no. His best friend was dying. Probably wouldn’t last the night. God, humans were so impermanent. Was this what it would have been like, had he been alive, once upon a time? Would he have succumbed to illness? Would he have felt death coming? Would he be scared like so many were, or flippant like Lydia? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t care to find out, either.

Instead, he slunk back into Lydia’s bedroom and crawled up the walls. Once he was settled in the far corner — a perfect position to see if Lydia was choking, wheezing, or scratching — he laid in wait. He would be there if anything happened. He would, rather than anyone else, be her Guide to the other side. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it. She was his friend. His best friend. One kid that trusted him and thought of him like family. _Family_... a pipedream for Beetlejuice. But there it was. Curled up and shivering under a pile of blankets.

And that’s where he sat for six long, long hours. He melted into the shadows, simply a pair of green eyes peeking out and watching Lydia carefully. She got up a few more times in the night, violently retching before settling right back into bed. When she coughed, even if it was small, he peeled away from the shadows and grabbed her hand to look at it.

“Let me _see_ ,” he would growl while Lydia look blearily up at him. _“Let me see.”_

There was no blood… but he didn’t relax. He stayed in that little corner, waiting for Lydia to hit that sharp, fast decline. When it came, he’d be prepared. He’d do whatever it took to stop it. If that involved possessing Charles and _forcing_ him to take Lydia to the hospital, he’d do it.

It was early in the morning when Delia poked her head into the room. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said, letting the light from the hall filter into the room. Apparently, she couldn’t see Beetlejuice where he’d melded into the shadows. Lydia groaned, and Delia gave her a sympathetic hum as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. There, she reached out to put a hand to Lydia’s forehead. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like crap,” Lydia rasped. Delia nodded and took her hand back.

“I think you’re staying home today,” she said with a careful pat of the blankets. “Barb said she’d check in on you while Charles and I are at work. You can just call if you need anything. _Anything at all_ ,” she promised before she leaned forward and gave Lydia an awkward, smooshing hug.

Lydia nodded weakly, and just like that, Delia left. She _left_ , completely trusting Lydia to know what to say or do when she coughed up blood. Beetlejuice growled from the corner, hearing his voice echo in the shadows as he bitterly melted around the room, clinging to each dark space, each shadowed nook… waiting for the perfect moment to say things had gone too far. He kept shifting from shadow to shadow over the next two hours, lingering low and waiting for her to bolt out of bed streaked with blood. She was too sick. She needed help. And _he_ wasn’t the one to provide it… he hardly knew anything about living people.

Maybe it was about water. Breathers were always on about water. Beetlejuice frowned from where he had hunkered down under Lydia’s desk; it couldn’t be the water, because she was still getting sick. She had to be throwing up _something_ … and maybe it was blood. Maybe she _was_ dying. Maybe he was already too late and—

“Lydia?” Barbara’s voice cut through the air as she stepped into the room. Lydia shifted on the bed, turning to look at Barbara from beneath a mountain of blankets. Behind her, Adam carried a small tray with a steaming bowl and a tall glass of water. Beetlejuice gave it a distrusting look; soup wasn’t going to fix everything. Consumption wasn’t so easily swayed. Even so, Barbara looked calm as she sat on the bed next to Lydia, reaching out to put a hand on Lydia’s cheek. “Delia says you’re not feeling so good.”

Lydia sighed happily. “Your hands are really cold.”

Barbara’s smile was strained as she said, “And you feel really warm, honey.”

Setting the tray of food on Lydia’s bedside table, Adam shook a bottle of pills – weren’t those drugs? – and dropped a few tablets into his palm. Lydia seemed to recognize them, and she sat up shakily, reaching for the glass of water while Adam put the pills in her hand. After the pills were swallowed, Adam sat on the other side of the bed and put his hand to Lydia’s forehead.

“If there’s _anything_ these cold hands can do, it’s soothe a little fever.”

With a tired laugh, Lydia fell sideways against Adam, clearly happy to feel his cold, cold body against her fever-hot skin. “Leave it to the plaid-Dad to be optimistic.”

Adam went a little starry-eyed at that, his smile all bubbly and dreamy as he repeated, “Hear that Barbara? I’m the _plaid dad.”_

“You sure are, sweetheart.” Barbara pointed out the bowl of soup. “How’s your stomach? Do you think you can eat something for us?” Lydia grimaced, and Barbara pat her shoulder fondly. “It’s okay. Whenever you’re ready, you can eat.”

Adam nodded, rubbing Lydia’s shoulder where she leaned against him. “And Beetlejuice will keep an eye on you in the meantime.” Beetlejuice twitched; he couldn’t have seen him. He _couldn’t_ have. Beetlejuice was _excellent_ at hiding in the shadows. Even so, Adam looked over at Lydia’s desk, his eyes locking on Beetlejuice’s with an intense, knowing glint. “Not sure why he’s _lurking_ , though.”

Extracting himself from the shadows, Beetlejuice laid out on the carpeted floor and glared at Adam. “I’m a demon, Adam. Demons _lurk_.”

Lydia huffed and hugged herself to Adam. “Beej thinks I’m dying.”

Rolling across the floor, Beetlejuice tucked himself under her bed and threw his voice around the room ominously, attempting to fight off his discomfort as he said, _“Of course you’re dying. Everyone is dying. That’s the whole thing about life.”_

Like he hadn’t said anything, Lydia added on, “He thinks I’m going to cough up blood.”

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Barbara peeked down at Beetlejuice with a smile. “Beetlejuice… she’s just got a little virus. She’s not that sick. If she was, her symptoms would be different.”

Beetlejuice frowned at her. “But—”

“If it was tuberculosis,” Adam added calmly, “It would be drawn out a little longer. This came out of nowhere. Hit hard like the flu. And she would have chest pains. Do you have chest pains, hun?”

Lydia took a deep, dramatic breath, loud enough that Beetlejuice could hear her exhale. “No. Just feel nauseous.”

Still looking down at Beetlejuice, Barbara smiled and said, “See? She’s just got a little bug.”

Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes “What’s up with you guys all saying shit about _bugs_?”

“It’s an expression,” Adam said, completely calm when Beetlejuice rolled out from beneath the bed to look at him. With a hard look at Adam, Beetlejuice was met with a smile. “That look on your face is _also_ an expression.” Lydia whacked him and Adam only smiled.

“That wasn’t even a good Dad Joke.”

Scrambling up onto his hands and knees, Beetlejuice didn’t let up. “ _Yeah_ , I don’t think you guys _get it_. I’ve _seen_ what your Breather Sickness can do, and it’s bad. Like. _Bad_ bad. There’s blood and boils and _so_ much pus, I don’t think you—”

“You know what?” Adam said suddenly, “I think Lydia needs to sleep.”

Barbara nodded and pat the bedside table. “We’ll leave the soup here for you, honey. Try to eat a little if you can.”

Beetlejuice jolted where he was still on the floor; they were going to leave her again. How could they _not care_? This was _Lydia_. The little kid that brought them together. Well, really, death had brought them together, but she was their tether; the one that summoned him again, brought him back, and let him stay in the house with them. And they were just going to leave her to rot from the inside out. The very thought almost made him want to kill the Maitlands twice.

“She’s _dying_ ,” Beetlejuice stressed in a low, angry growl. “And you chumps are just going to let her—” Beetlejuice’s words were cut off when Adam touched him, a firm hand on his arm.

Adam was calm as he hauled Beetlejuice to his feet. “Like I said, Lydia needs her sleep if she’s going to get better.”

Fidgeting in Adam’s grip, Beetlejuice couldn’t actually _fight it_ when he was walked to the door. He did, however, shoot Lydia desperate looks over his shoulder. If she _did_ start coughing up blood, no one would be there to soothe her. If she died and he wasn’t looking, someone else would be the one to Guide her. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for Lydia to die. The bedroom door swung shut.

Beetlejuice panicked.

“Lydia!” He shouted, scrambling to unwind his arm from Adam’s. He lurched for the door, only to have Barbara take his other arm. “ _Lydia!”_

“She needs her sleep, Beetlejuice! Otherwise she won’t get better!” Barbara tried to reason with him, her touch burning through layers of fabric. Real and firm and holding him fast as he struggled and tried to grab at the doorknob. “Please, Bee—just listen to us! Lydia is _okay._ She’s going to be just fine!”

“She’s dying! She’s gonna die and I won’t _be there_!” Beetlejuice felt his breath catch, his body quivering with panic. He needed to be there for her. He needed to be her Guide. Someone else would do it wrong. Someone else would scare her. _Someone else_ _would deliver her straight to Juno_. “She’s hurt and she’s going to bleed from the inside—let me go. Let me go! I need to be there for her! I need to—”

Beetlejuice stopped hard. Adam was on him. _Holding_ him. His arms wrapped around Beetlejuice and holding tight. The pressure felt… well, it felt different. Different from the hug they shared in the attic a few days ago. Now he seemed a little desperate. Like he had to get a point across. So he held fast, his chest pressed to Beetlejuice’s back and his cheek on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. Beetlejuice opened his mouth to tell him to stop. To let go. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want this to go away… the panic from before slowly started to seep down from his head and into his shoes.

“It’s alright,” Adam said evenly, his voice muffled against the fabric of Beetlejuice’s suitcoat. Beetlejuice swallowed hard, and Adam gave his stomach a pat. Like a dog that needed reassuring. It worked. “She’s just a little sick, Beetlejuice. It doesn’t mean she’s dying.”

Beetlejuice fumbled for words, his brain going in circles as he glanced around the hallway. He saw the door, the light from Lydia’s lamp creeping out into the hall, Barbara looking at him anxiously, and then… he looked down to see Adam’s hands clasped together over his stomach, effectively holding the two of them together. He felt _better_ , but that didn’t fix the situation.

Shakily, Beetlejuice grabbed Barbara’s hand and held it. She squeezed his hand, and that felt nice. “What color?” He asked. She gave him a strained smile.

“White. White and purple,” she reached out to pet his hair, and by God—Satan— _somebody_ that felt _amazing_. Gently, Barbara said, “There we go. Now it’s turning pink at the edges. How do you feel?”

Beetlejuice grimaced. “I don’t want Lydia to die.”

Adam held him a little tighter. “She _won’t_. This isn’t a bad illness.”

“But—but all the ones I’ve seen,” Beetlejuice started, his hands still a little shaky as he glanced at the door. “I’ve seen some shit, Adam. And they all… they all—”

“Beetlejuice,” he said softly. “Don’t you only show up when people are about to die?” Beetlejuice froze; he was right. He was there to guide those people. He watched them die in that horrible agony, all covered in blood and dirt… and then he showed them the door. Beetlejuice’s brow furrowed and Adam gave his stomach another pat. “This isn’t like those times. Lydia isn’t dying. She just a little sick.”

“It’s okay,” Barbara said softly. Beetlejuice looked at her, and Barbara smiled sadly at him. “Oh, Beetlejuice… it’s _okay_.” She reached up and brushed her thumb over his cheek. She wiped something away. Something wet. He blinked hard; he was _crying_.

“Shut up,” he said, furiously scrubbing at his face. He pushed Adam’s hands off him, retreating into himself as he scratched at his hair furiously. Barbara drew her hand away, and Beetlejuice repeated, a little louder this time: “ _Shut up!_ I wasn’t—I just…” he paused and looked up. The Maitlands were staring at him. Barbara looked a little hurt. Adam looked sad. They were _disappointed_. He wasn’t going to stick around for that. “I have to go.”

Adam jumped, reaching out and managing to say, “Beetlejuice!” before the man disappeared. Adam waited for a moment, hoping he’d come back with that kicked-puppy expression he wore when he showed up in the attic a few days earlier. But he didn’t. He was just… _gone_. Adam looked to Barbara, seeing the way she fidgeted with her hands, staring down at them like _she_ was the reason he’d left. No, surely he was just frustrated with himself. Probably. Hopefully.

Stepping close and putting his hands on her hips, Adam pressed his forehead to hers and murmured, “You… do you think I was too forward?” Barbara smiled a little and shook her head.

“No. I think… he was just so worried about Lydia. I think… I think he was embarrassed to know that we saw him crying.”

Before either of them could say anything more, a soft, rasping voice came from Lydia’s room: “ _Beetlejuice_?” The Maitlands peeked into the room, seeing Lydia’s head poking out of the blankets she whispered in a hoarse voice, “What happened to Beej?”

Barbara smiled. “He had to go do a Guide. He’ll be back soon.”

Lydia shuffled in her blankets a little. “He sounded mad.”

Barbara lingered in the doorway, her smile stretched thin as she said, “He’s just worked up. I don’t think he understands that people can get sick and _live_.”

Lydia sniffled. “Yeah, I figured. He was saying stuff about me vomiting blood. Totally cool to wake up to that.”

Adam winced and glanced at Barbara. “Well… I think the understands, now. When he comes back, things will be a little easier.”

“Yeah,” Lydia sniffed again, lying back and making an unhappy noise. “The Tylenol isn’t working.”

Adam chuckled. “You need to give it time, sweetheart.”

Waving him over, Lydia gave him a cloudy-eyed smile. “Can you put your cold hand on my head? I’m all shaky… but hot. Cold but hot.”

“Of course.” Adam sat with her, his hand on Lydia’s forehead as she closed her eyes. She still looked nervous though, her brow still furrowed with thought as Barbara’s came to hold her hand. Together, the Maitlands struggled to combat the heat of the fever as Adam said, “He’ll come back, Lydia. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

“I don’t know why there’s steam in the first place,” Lydia whispered tiredly. “I don’t get why he’s mad.”

Adam and Barbara looked at each other. “It’s not that he’s mad, honey,” Barbara said softly. “He’s just _scared_ for you.”

“But I’m okay.”

“Yes,” Barbara nodded as she reached out to push some of Lydia’s hair from her face. He skin was clammy with sweat. Her face was flushed with a fever. Barbara sighed. “That doesn’t make this any less scary for him.”

+++++

The park was small. One of those suburban parks that was made to shell out tax dollars rather than fix the roads. And that’s where Beetlejuice found himself, standing in the middle of a park with a giant oak tree and a tote bag over his shoulder. The leaves had all gone, leaving the park a little barren where it stood with a thin blanket of snow and ice over the dead grass. On a park bench, the Newly Dead sat and looked at his hands. He looked sad. Beetlejuice couldn’t blame him.

He shuffled over – the young man looked up at him, clearly startled – and Beetlejuice tossed the tote bag to him. The guy couldn’t catch, but he scrambled to pick up the bag and its contents while Beetlejuice stood over him, tired and frustrated.

“Hey. You’re dead. Congrats. Read the book.” Beetlejuice turned on his heel and started to walk away. “I’m out.”

“What—wait! Wait, I…” The man got up and _followed_ him, holding the Handbook in front of him with a scrutinizing face. “The Handbook for the Recently… I’m deceased?”

“Yeah, I already _said that_ ,” Beetlejuice grumbled as he looked at the guy. He wasn’t ugly. In fact, he almost reminded Beetlejuice of Adam with that soft brown hair and those chunky reading glasses. The sweater vest was a turn-off, though. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Beetlejuice huffed. “Just… read the book. I’ve got places to be and people to avoid.”

The Newly Dead blinked at him. “What? But… who are you?”

Beetlejuice glowered. “I can’t say my name. Just…” he sputtered for a moment, irritated, and gave the Newly Dead a hard look. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Another blink. “Should… I be scared of you…?”

More than a little irritated, Beetlejuice unleased a ten-snake hiss and growl from an unhinged jaw filled with more teeth than necessary. The Newly Dead stumbled back screaming, and though the look on his face was justified… it wasn’t _fun_. It wasn’t like scaring with Lydia. Lydia was sick and the Maitlands knew better and he was just… well, he was just useless. He wouldn’t cry though. He wouldn’t even admit that he cried.

With a resigned huff, Beetlejuice waved an arm and staggered away. “Just… draw a door with the chalk in the bag. Whatever.”

The Newly Dead didn’t stop there, though. No, he was persistent. He jumped into action and startled forward, jumping after Beetlejuice like an uncoordinated, confused puppy. “Wait. I don’t understand. Why… what do I do then?” Beetlejuice keep walking, and the Newly Dead followed behind him like a lost duckling. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously going through… _something_ , but I’m… I’m just confused, if you could tell me—”

“ _Going through something_?” Beetlejuice repeated as he turned sharply to glare at the man. The Newly Dead stopped in his tracks with a jerky movement and fidgeted with his glasses, and Beetlejuice suppressed the urge to shake the sugary filling out of this creampuff of a ghost. “What the hell do you think you know about me? You don’t know me. _Nobody_ knows me. Not you, not Barbara, not Adam…”

The Newly Dead thrust out his hand with a bright-and-shining smile that Beetlejuice had _never_ seen on a Newly Dead before. “I’m Emile Picani. _Doctor_ Picani, I suppose. Whatever that’s worth… now…” he looked down at the handbook tucked under his other arm and bounced a little where he stood. Could he stand still? Apparently not. Beetlejuice liked that. “I suppose the license is a moot point now.”

Beetlejuice leaned back with a bitter noise in the back of his throat. “Oh _fuck_ , you’re one of those shrink-y people.”

“Yes. Or… I was,” Emile pursed his lips and dropped his hand when Beetlejuice refused to take it. “Or… am I still a doctor? I don’t really… feel any different.”

“What _ever_ ,” Beetlejuice growled as he scratched a hand through his hair. “It’s doesn’t _matter_. You’re dead. Draw a door and get out of my face.” Turning away, Beetlejuice expected Emile to stay where he was and do what he was told. Little square people like him tended to do as they were told… but not this one. He was a pattern-breaker, and Beetlejuice wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“You push people away like this often, don’t you?” He asked. Beetlejuice stopped in his tracks. Emile cocked his head to the side with a knowing look as he went on, “It’s a coping mechanism, isn’t it? You don’t want to let people in too close.” Beetlejuice turned and gave Emile a baffled look. The Newly Dead smiled gently, like he was waiting for Beetlejuice to admit something. “It’s indicative of a past rejection.”

“I wasn’t rejected,” Beetlejuice lied. “And you can take your psycho-anal shit and shove it up your—”

“Psychoanalyzing, but yes,” Emile nodded kindly with that little bounce in his movements. He still held the damn Handbook close, like it was very, very important. Beetlejuice clicked his tongue and looked away, and Emile watched him closely before he tilted his head and said, “You’re upset.”

“Am not.”

“Mister…” Emile paused and floundered for a moment. When Beetlejuice didn’t rescue him, Emile fluttered his hands and hummed until he settled on: “Mr. Stripes, I think you need to know that however you’re feeling, as long as you’re feeling it, is totally natural—”

“I don’t _feel_ things!” Beetlejuice snapped. He marched forward, crowing Emile’s space until he had to lean back and avoid knocking noses with Beetlejuice. “I’m not _alive_. I was alive for like. Forty seconds and it was a goddamn _nightmare_. Too many feelings. I don’t know how you guys even _manage_ that shit!”

Emile swayed a little where he stood, his expression unconvinced. “You sound like you’re angry. That’s a feeling too.”

Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow. “I could literally gut you right now.”

“Deflecting,” Emile said softly, his expression still bright and open. “Mr. Stripes—”

“Jesus Christ, that’s worse than Mr. Juice.”

Emile laughed a little and despite the look on Beetlejuice’s face, he said, “Mr. Juice, then. You said that nobody knows you. And you’re denying your feelings. That’s not a _good_ thing.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Beetlejuice groaned and turned away. “If you wanna probe me, stick a finger up my ass, don’t go digging around in my brain.”

Emile didn’t laugh this time. In fact, he looked very sad as he held his book tight and murmured, “Avoiding these people isn’t going to _help_ you, Mr. Juice.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Avoiding your _feelings_ won’t help either—”

“Shut up!” Beetlejuice shouted, his skin feeling prickly and sharp all over. Emile’s eyes went comically wide as he leaned back and away from the abuse. “You spend five seconds with me and you think you got me figured out? You don’t know! You don’t know what’s going on here!” He waved his hands wildly in the air, sparks flying in the tree branches as he snarled, “They don’t know! They don’t know what I saw! They think it’ll be fine, _but it won’t!_ They all thought they’d live! They thought the sickness would go away! It didn’t! And I watched them die!”

Beetlejuice felt himself shaking. His chest felt tight, but there wasn’t a beating heart there. An un-beating heart couldn’t break, but that didn’t mean it didn’t _hurt_. Grabbing handfuls of his hair, Beetlejuice pulled at the roots furiously. One pain didn’t subtract from the other, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blot it all out.

“And they think I’m just some stupid guy who’s gonna screw everything up! I just don’t—I don’t want Lydia to die, and they’re treating me like some fucking moron! And I cried like some little fucking _baby_ , and I know what they’re saying! Just like my mom! ‘ _Stop crying! Demons don’t cry, you’re such a useless piece of—‘”_ Beetlejuice sucked in a deep breath, his eyes still closed tight. He said too much. Stupid Newly Dead was probably laughing at him. He was about to draw a door and disappear and tell Maria just how much of a _mess_ Beetlejuice really was.

“I don’t think _anyone_ is saying that,” Emile said softly, his voice soothing against the bitter cold of winter air. Beetlejuice didn’t lift his head. “If these people… Barbara and Adam? If they care about you as much as you care about them—”

“They don’t,” Beetlejuice said adamantly. Emile didn’t mind it.

“Even if they _don’t_ care about you as much… I’m sure they’re worried about you. Crying is your body trying to help you.” Making a face, Beetlejuice lifted his head and looked at Emile. He was still smiling. Warm and bright like nothing, _nothing_ could sway him. Like he’d seen worse. Like he had _survived_ worse. And that smile practically glowed when he reached out and put a gentle hand on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. “When you cry, your tears are filled with chemicals meant to help trigger pleasure and relaxation in your body. Your own body is trying to _help_ you. There’s nothing wrong with crying.”

Snarling a little, Beetlejuice turned away, shrugging off Emile’s hand as he curled in on himself. Emile didn’t mind that, choosing to take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“Relationships are difficult. But it’s a two-way road,” Emile said thoughtfully. “And that road includes _communication_.”

Beetlejuice snorted, his fingers still tangled in his hair as he huffed, “Trust me. We are _not_ in a relationship. I want to be. Jesus _fucking_ Christ I want us to be, but they’re… _them_. And I’m me.”

“There are all kinds of relationships!” Emile said brightly, like they were talking about different colored flowers. “Familial, platonic, and even business relationships. Even if it’s not romantic, there’s a bond between people. We all mean something to one another.” Stepping forward, Emile crouched down so he could look up at Beetlejuice with those big, puppy-dog eyes and that hopeless smile. “Mr. Juice… have these friends ever called you stupid?”

Beetlejuice hesitated. “No.”

“Did they make fun of you for crying?”

He looked away this time, a little bitter as he let his hands fall from his hair. “No.”

Emile nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as he said, “So… they’re inconsiderate of your feelings?”

“No,” Beetlejuice grimaced. “They’re super fucking polite.”

Emile smiled and stood up, rocking on his heels with that knowing, goofy smile on his face. “Then I think you’ve made a lot of assumptions. Maybe because of what you said about your mom… and it’s okay to be tense. It’s okay to be weary after being hurt.” With that teddy-bear-soft smile, Emile drummed his fingers against his Handbook and said, “But I think you’d also benefit from keeping yourself _open_ to a _positive_ connection. Your friends are probably worried about you. I mean, I’d be worried if my friend started crying. And, if they call you names for it… well, then.” Emile made a cartoonish, exaggerated face. “Then maybe they aren’t the kind of friends you want to keep.”

Beetlejuice blinked hard, giving Emile a baffled look. “This is the _weirdest_ conversation I’ve ever had with a Newly Dead.”

Emile laughed hard, rocking back where he stood as he said, “Yeah, and this is the most interesting impromptu session I’ve ever had!” He cocked his head to the side, clearly curious as he asked, “I’ve never had a patient with hair that changes colors. Is that normal for you?”

Beetlejuice held a hand to his hair, feeling the ache of his scalp where he’d been pulling at it. “What? Yeah. I guess. Whatever. What color is it?”

Emile narrowed his eyes and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Marbled. A spatter of soft colors? Pastels, mostly. Is that a bad thing?”

Beetlejuice chuckled and grabbed the toe bag on Emile’s shoulder. Once he had it, he dug through for the chalk. With a few quick swipes, Beetlejuice drew the outline of a door on the trunk of the old oak tree. With a flick of his wrist, the chalk was gone, and Beetlejuice smirked and said, “Good question.”

He knocked three times, and when the door slowly opened, Emile’s eyes went wide. The green smoke and light latched onto him, and he stumbled forward a few paces. “Remy,” he whispered, his grip on the Handbook going a little slack as he stumbled forward. “Remy.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Beetlejuice took the Handbook and tucked it into Emile’s tote bag. “You got someone waiting on the other side, Doc?”

“My husband,” Emile smiled, his glasses reflecting the glowing green of the doorway oddly. He was smiling wide and his eyes went hazy with emotion as he said, “He’s… waiting. He has to be waiting for me. On the other side.”

Giving a strained smile, Beetlejuice crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Sure,” he lied. There was very little that could be done to find someone after they went through the doorway. Unless you know one of the people pulling the strings. Beetlejuice blinked… and grabbed Emile’s arm before he could pass through the doorway and get lost. “Hey. You get to the other side? You look for a lady named Maria. Green skin, red hair, has a sash that says ‘Miss Argentina’ on it… you tell her I sent you. She’ll… she’ll help you find your husband.”

Emile blinked rapidly, his focus shot from the pull of the door and Beetlejuice’s words. “Miss… Miss Maria. Green skin… and a sash?”

“Yeah. You tell her BJ sent you, got it?” Before Emile could say anything more, he let go. Emile was immediately tugged toward the door, walking through with a whispered, “Thank you,” before he disappeared into the smoke. Beetlejuice quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the tree with a tired, heavy feeling in his chest. “Thank you?” He repeated, a little floored by the statement. “Huh. Never heard that one before.”

A piece of paper flew out of the door and he snatched it before it could get caught up in the wind.

_Will help him find his husband. Xoxoxo – Maria_

With a smile, Beetlejuice pressed his thumbprint to the paper and tossed it through the doorway. It disappeared into the smoke and light, and when it was gone, the door swung shut. For the first time in a while, he didn’t even try to step through the doorway.

He simply went home.

+++++

Charles and Delia were at the table when Beetlejuice appeared in the entryway without so much as a word. To the outside eye, he looked drained. Like _less_ of himself. A watered-down, washed-out version of the loud, bright Beetlejuice they knew. Even his hair reflected the mood; the tips of his hair were stained a deep, longing violet, reaching down to the deep, green roots. Charles took a long drink of water as Delia pivoted in her chair to look at him.

“You’re back,” she said, gaining his attention from where he’d been staring at the floor. He glanced up, started to smile, but the expression dropped soon after. Like he didn’t have the energy to keep up his bouncing, exuberant behavior. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. “Hard day?”

Beetlejuice ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back as he glanced at the kitchen. Delia followed his gaze. Adam was standing by the sink, staring at Beetlejuice, a freshly-washed plate gripped tight in his hand. It was like he’d forgotten he was even washing them. He simply stared… and Beetlejuice stared back. Delia pursed her lips; this was interesting.

Charles set down his cup. “Is something wrong, Beetle—”

“Shush,” Delia hissed, waving a frantic hand at Charles. Gladly, he got the message. They were simply bystanders to this interaction. Something significant had happened while she and Charles had been at work. She doubted Beetlejuice would say it outright… so keeping Charles quiet so he could muster up a little courage? That seemed like the healthy thing to do.

Beetlejuice shuffled into the kitchen, his head held low and hands stuffed into their pockets so deep, Delia could see the seams of his coat straining. He was anxious, that was clear. But he trudged all the way up to Adam, his eyes on Adam’s soft, brown penny loafers.

“So…” Beetlejuice started, his hands still deep in his pockets, like he had to fight to keep his hands to himself. Adam hummed, setting the plate on the drying rack slowly. Beetlejuice shrugged his shoulders, rocking between his feet as he struggled with himself. “Just wanted to…”

“We didn’t mean to upset you,” Adam said calmly. “I’m sorry if we did.”

Delia’s eyes flickered between them; had the Maitlands… _done_ something to Beetlejuice while she was gone? It would explain why Adam and Barbara had been quiet when they came home. Lydia was still asleep. And Beetlejuice… he had been nowhere to be found. Now that he was back, he was like an empty shell of his usual self. And now Adam was apologizing? _Very_ interesting.

Lifting his head, Beetlejuice scratched a hand through his hair. “Was… just worried about the little gremlin.”

Adam smiled. “We know. And that’s very good of you. We’re happy you’re her friend.”

Charles and Delia looked at each other. He had been worried about Lydia. That was a good thing. But what exactly _happened_? Neither Delia nor Charles wanted to pry. The scene unfolding in front of them was interesting enough.

With a vague gesture to his face, Beetlejuice said, “I’m just not… super good with people seeing… me… _y’know_.”

There was a pause, and Adam put a hand on the kitchen counter, leaning his weight into it as he hopelessly said, “Was that it? Was that what really bothered you?”

Beetlejuice shifted and shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Yeah.”

“Beetlejuice,” Adam said sternly. “It’s okay to cry.”

Delia nearly fell out of her chair; Beetlejuice had been _crying_ while she was gone? How did so many interesting things happen while she was out of the house? Normally she was happy doing ‘interesting things’ with Charles. But this was like watching a soap opera… with less chocolate ice cream and popcorn.

With a heavy sigh, Beetlejuice rolled his shoulders back. “Yeah, you’re not the first person to say that.”

“Exactly. So, in the future, if you’re upset, refer to the House Rules.” Adam tapped the counter. “If you’re troubled, talk to someone.”

Beetlejuice fidgeted, his voice strangely soft when his hair darkened to a full head of violet. “Only if you promise not to laugh.”

Adam softened. “Beetlejuice… if you’re really upset, I don’t think I’d be able to laugh.”

With an aborted gesture, Beetlejuice’s hands shot out to grab Adam, to pull him close… but he stopped just short of touch him. Adam noticed it, looking at Beetlejuice calmly as the hands slowly, carefully, retreated back to Beetlejuice’s sides. After a few long, tense seconds, Beetlejuice spoke.

“Can we do that… that thing. The,” he gestured between the two of them. “You know. The thing.”

“Of _course_ we can.” With a soft chuckle, Adam reached up and pulled Beetlejuice into an embrace that was nothing short of heartwarming. Delia could only stare. She was pretty sure Charles’ jaw had dropped minute ago, but she couldn’t look away. There, with Beetlejuice’s head cradled to Adam’s shoulder and his hands grasping at the small of his back, Adam smiled and said, “You know, Barbara and I were worried that you wouldn’t come back.”

Beetlejuice snorted. “Like I don’t disappear every day.”

Delia saw the way Adam’s hands on Beetlejuice’s shoulders tightened, like he needed to prove something as he said, “You do, but we know you’re _coming back_. This was… this was different.”

Beetlejuice hummed… and simply held himself to Adam. Delia didn’t dare to say anything. Charles was equally silent; they both knew this was significant. They just didn’t quite _understand_ it. They’d never seen Beetlejuice like this… so subdued and calm. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She _had_ seen him like that before.

When he’d said goodbye to them, those several months ago, he’d been _very_ subdued. Down to earth and slightly melancholy. This, however, was different. He stood there, in Adam’s arms, and his hair started to _change_. So slow, she could see the deep, deep magenta seeping into his hair, erasing the violet and slowly replacing it with a softer, pastel pink. Even if she didn’t know what all the colors meant, Delia understood that _pink_ must have meant something good. Affection? Comfort? Whatever it was, it was nice to see him there, all curled up in Adam and calm.

Just like that, Beetlejuice stepped back and sighed, “Alright. That’s all I can take without pinching your ass. _Great_ ass, by the way.”

Adam blinked slowly, taking a deep, calming breath as his cheeks burned red. “Thank… you.”

“No problem,” Beetlejuice adjusted his coat and wiggled his fingers idly. “So! Where’s Babs?”

“Upstairs with Lydia,” Adam said, and before he could lift his hand to point, Beetlejuice skirted around him, heading for Lydia’s room.

Adam watched him go, barely managing to sputter, “Welcome home!” before Beetlejuice reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around the corner. After he’d gone, Adam turned back to Delia and Charles. Silence stretched out between them, and Adam chuckled uneasily. Delia smiled and rested her chin in her palm.

“So… something happened while we were gone?”

With another chuckle, Adam went back to washing the dishes. “Yes, something happened… but I think… I think we’re okay.”

+++++

Beetlejuice leaned in Lydia’s bedroom doorway carefully, peeking around the edge of the open door to see Barbara sitting at her bedside. It looked like Lydia had fallen asleep. The bowl of soup that Barbara had brought her was empty. The only light inside the room came from Lydia’s desk, soft and glowing a gentle light as Barbara pet Lydia’s hair. She was humming something. Like an old song that Beetlejuice felt like he should know… but was never taught.

Maybe it was a Breather thing. A song that only the living got the chance to learn. He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that he desperately wanted it to be real. The he wished he could play the song, the lyrics, the _feeling_ behind it… but there was something. There was the weird, electrical feeling buzzing around in his chest. The tingle of his fingertips like he stuck his hand in an electrical socket again. But it was all from seeing Barbara. Or maybe it was just the hug from Adam leaving aftershocks. Both of them were a shot in the arm.

Leaning against the doorway, Beetlejuice listened for a little while. Barbara never actually _sang_ any words… but there was a distinct melody. And she repeated it as she brushed her fingers over Lydia’s forehead, probably trying to fend off the fever. Beetlejuice felt very gooey at the sight… and he let himself melt into the various shadows cast by the lamp on Lydia’s desk. Once in those shadows, he crept around the room until he could spring back into form on the other side of Lydia’s bed.

Barbara jumped, a little startled, before she held a finger to her lips. Beetlejuice mimed zipping his mouth shut – and literally zipped his lips together – and Barbara nodded in approval.

“We were worried,” she whispered carefully. “Lydia heard you were mad and thought you left for good.” Beetlejuice tried to mumble around the zipper on his lips but couldn’t shake it. Barbara sighed and pat Lydia’s hair. “She’s doing a lot better. Her fever isn’t nearly as high.”

The zipper on his lips disintegrated and Beetlejuice let out a relieved breath. “Yeah? So it was one of those… bug things.”

Barbara nodded and whispered, “And… earlier, if we upset you in any way—”

“You didn’t,” he promised, then paused. What had Emile said? Communication or some junk? Yeah, that probably meant something, especially to people like Adam and Barbara. So, just like he had fought with himself downstairs with Adam, he scratched at his hair and grumbled, “I’m just… not a fan of getting all teary in front of people.”

At that, Barbara gave him a sorry look and whispered, “I’m sorry we made you cry.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” he said again, chuckling a little as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Honestly, I just fucked myself over thinking this was some disease.”

“It’s hard to think of anything else,” Barbara said softly, “If that’s all you’ve known.”

Under the covers, Lydia stirred and grumbled, “That’s deep.” While Barbara tried to apologize for waking her, Lydia reached out a blind hand, not bothering to open her eyes as she yawned, “Beej?”

He took her warm little hand in his own, marveling at how _small_ she was in comparison to him. With delicate fingers and a pulse under her skin, she was _alive_ and _well_. He smiled and said, “I’m here, Lyds. How you feelin’?”

Lydia’s eyes cracked open to glare at him, her hand gripping his tight. “Thought you left.”

Rolling his eyes, Beetlejuice sat on the bed, resting his back against the headboard as Lydia glowered up at him. “Just needed to get out for a minute. Got myself all worked up.”

Lydia rolled over a little, burrowing into his side as she threw an arm over his middle. “Still think I’m gonna die?”

Beetlejuice smiled. “Nah. I’d know if I was gonna Guide you, kid. Just… worked up. Like I said.”

Lydia sniffled, coughed on his coat, and croaked, “You’re cold.”

“I’m dead, kid.”

“It’s nice,” she said with a yawn, her eyes already closed as she settled in to sleep again. “I still feel warm.”

Glancing at Barbara, Beetlejuice looked for some sort of explanation. Barbara only gave him a smile in response. Shrugging a little, Beetlejuice kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the bed. “Guess I’m staying in here tonight.” He glanced down at Lydia. “You gonna use me as a pillow?”

“Yeah,” Lydia whispered hoarsely as she started to drown in her blankets. “You’re nice and cool.”

“I’ll check in on you later tonight,” Barbara promised as she leaned down to kiss Lydia’s hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I hope you feel better in the morning.”

When Lydia spoke, it was clear she wasn’t quite awake or aware. But still, the words hit hard when she said, “Night, Mom.”

Barbara was quiet for a long moment, a hand held to her heart like it had jolted her deep in her non-beating heart. Beetlejuice could see all sorts of lights in her eyes. There was excitement, surprise, and something… dark. Almost sad. When she looked at him, the lights shifted, and she was warm again. She was _Barbara_ again. He smiled, and she smiled back.

“Welcome home, Beetlejuice,” she said, and before he could say anything, she leaned over and pressed a simple, dry kiss to his cheek. All movements in his body stopped. All thought halted. His body felt like it was carved from wax. He was going to melt into a very, very warm puddle. With a slack jaw and wide eyes, Beetlejuice sat with his arm draped lazily over Lydia as Barbara stood and gathered the dishes on the bedside table. It was like nothing had happened. Like the kiss wasn’t sending electric shocks all through Beetlejuice where he sat. When she reached the door, Barbara turned back and called softly, “Keep an eye on our girl, Beetlejuice.”

Feeling that same electrical, buzzing feeling in his chest that flared when Adam held him, Beetlejuice gave her a helpless, dopey smile. “Sure thing, Babs. I’ll be here.”

The door creaked shut, and Beetlejuice let out a hopeless sigh. Lydia was going to be fine. He had spoken to a goddamn shrink. Adam hugged him. Barbara kissed his cheek. _He loved them_. He loved them so much it almost hurt. It made him restless. All itchy under the skin… but he wouldn’t move. Not when he was serving as Lydia’s cold body pillow. No, he would keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t roll out of bed during a fever-induced nightmare. In the meantime, he could sit and think.

He could think about the feeling of Adam’s fingers digging into his shoulders desperately, like the hug wasn’t conveying enough emotion. He could think about Barbara’s hand reaching between them, bracing herself against Beetlejuice’s thigh when she kissed his cheek. The lingering feeling, the soft, fuzzy emotions… they were such a _Maitland_ thing to feel. But there he was, feeling them. And even if he didn’t _really_ have them, even if they weren’t _really_ his, it was enough.

It was enough to love them like this, with some distance, and be satisfied. He had a home. A family. A best friend and two oblivious ghosts that he was in love with. It was messy… but he liked that about it. It was better than anything he’d ever had in the Netherworld.

And right here, right now? That was more than enough.


	7. Cold as Death

Early December bled on without much interest, like someone dragging a pine tree through the snow and dirt leaving needles in their wake. Beetlejuice continued his routine of sleeping at night and performing Guides by day… and when Lydia came home from school, the _real_ fun began.

“What’s cool about my new school,” Lydia said as she pulled on her fingerless gloves and slung her camera around her neck. “Is that my _new_ winter break is longer than my _old_ winter break.”

Beetlejuice was hovering above her bed, picking at his chipping nail polish. He’d have to ask Lydia to redo it. “Oh yeah? Shoving a bunch of horny teenagers in a little box for eight hours each day… sounds _totally_ humane to me. Why do you need a break?”

Lydia put a hat on her head – there was a spider motif on the front, _nice_ – and shrugged. “Because they’re shoving us in a little box for eight hours each day. I’m surprised I haven’t killed anyone yet.”

When Lydia left her room, he set himself on the ground and followed close behind. She was heading out, that much was clear. And no school meant he could walk with her and not get weird looks from teachers. She _also_ had her camera. That spelled trouble. Beetlejuice liked trouble.

“So what are we doing, kid? Scaring the pizza guy? Haunting a bitchy classmate? Throwing ducks at the elderly?”

Lydia laughed as they walked through the living room. The Maitlands were on the sofa, reading a book together. When they saw Beetlejuice and Lydia, they looked up and smiled. Barbara went right back to reading, snuggled in the crook of Adam’s arm that was draped over the back of the sofa.

“Going out?” Adam asked, all bright and calm despite the fact he would _never_ be able to leave the house again. Beetlejuice pitied him… but he’d rather pity Adam than let him get eaten by a sandworm. Lydia was pulling on her boots at the door when she looked up and nodded.

“Yeah. Gonna take Beej to the old bridge.”

Adam pursed his lips as he fidgeted with his reading glasses. “The old bridge… the old Smith Bridge off Oak Street?”

Again, Lydia nodded as she wound a scarf around her neck. “Yeah. It’s old and creepy. Figured Beej would like it.”

Beetlejuice grinned and puffed out his chest. “I _do_ like old and creepy stuff.”

He was unprepared, however, for Adam to hold out his hand and wiggle his fingers, like he was trying to lure Beetlejuice over. It worked, of course, Beetlejuice adored Adam and Barbara and would probably jump into a pit of spikes if they asked nicely. Then he would show them his gaping wounds like a trophy. So he shuffled over and took Adam’s hand. Adam squeezed his fingers and murmured, “Please, _please_ , be careful.”

Barbara looked over her shoulder at Beetlejuice, an uncertain glint in her eye as she said, “Keep Lydia out of trouble. I know that’s a _lot_ to ask, but… I don’t want her coming home with more scratches on her arms.”

For a moment, Beetlejuice just squeezed Adam’s hand. They were believing in him. Letting Lydia go with him, even if they knew he was a hot mess. They _trusted_ him with her safety. After a minute of thought – and Lydia clearing her throat impatiently in the entryway – Beetlejuice leaned down to placed a kiss on the top of Barbara’s hair. She blinked, a little surprised, then giggled. Adam squeezed his hand a little tighter and Beetlejuice grinned when he leaned over to plant a kiss on Adam’s head as well.

Both Maitlands were star-struck and flustered as Beetlejuice sauntered over to Lydia with a spring in his step. “No worries, guys. She’s in good hands.”

Lydia gave him a hard look. “I’m in goblin hands.”

Holding up his chubby fingers, Beetlejuice wriggled them diabolically. “You know it, kid.”

Without pause, Lydia wrenched open the door and sprung outside. “We’ll be back in a while!”

“Have fun!” Barbara said at the same time Adam said, “Be careful!”

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and closed the door behind them as they snickered and tore down the front steps. They looked like racoons up to no good. Lydia all in black and Beetlejuice dressed in stripes… they looked like very, _very_ bad home invaders. But no one on the street stopped them as they made their way to the edge of town. Really, no one had the courage to approach Beetlejuice. And he liked that. Besides, they were just going to a dumb old _bridge_.

What could possibly go wrong there?

+++++

It was nearly an hour after Beetlejuice and Lydia had left when Barbara heard the sirens. A fire engine. An ambulance. Loud and screaming as lights lit up the far end of the street. The sound grew closer. With her book held close to her chest, Barbara glanced over to where Adam was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup. At least, he _had_ been stirring the soup. Now he had stopped, his eyes far away as he looked out the kitchen window.

“Adam,” she said from the sofa. “ _Please_ tell me those sirens are in my head.”

With a slow stir of the soup, Adam looked over his shoulder and unsuccessfully said, “They’re… in your head?”

Setting her book aside, Barbara stood and went the large window in the living room. She saw the lights grow close, bright and flickering as the emergency vehicles tore down the street, heading toward the south end of town. Toward the old bridge. Following the same path Lydia and Beetlejuice had taken fifty minutes earlier. If it were possible, Barbara felt her chest seize uncomfortably. Her heart wasn’t even beating. There was no reason for her lungs to constrict like that. But there it was: fear.

“Don’t go right on Oak Street,” she whispered to the windows, her hands pressed to the glass as her eyes followed the flashing lights. “Please don’t go on Oak Street.”

The lights flashed, sirens wailed, and the fire truck turned right on Oak Street. Barbara leaned against the glass heavily, her cheek smooshed to the glass as the lights continued to flash through the town and lit up the snow that had fallen the night before. Behind her, Adam came to stand behind her, his hands on her hips as he leaned forward to watch the lights shrink as they retreated further and further to the outskirts of town.

“You don’t know it’s for them,” Adam said calmly. Barbara wanted to believe him, and from the tremble of his voice, she could tell _he_ wanted to believe himself, too. He leaned close, kissing her temple softly. It made her think of the way Beetlejuice kissed her hair before he left. She was scared for him… him, and Lydia. What if they had caused an accident? What if they were hurt? Like he knew what she was thinking, Adam hugged Barbara from behind and held her close. “You know Beetlejuice would never let anything happen to Lydia.”

Barbara hummed. “I know… but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared for Beetlejuice.”

“On that front,” Adam said uneasily. “I think we’re both on the same page.”

+++++

_Forty Minutes Earlier_

“Okay,” Lydia said as she led Beetlejuice down Oak Street as far as it would go, her camera held securely between her hands. “Before you go off on how _boring_ the bridge is… you gotta give it a chance.”

“Yeah, sure, fine… whatever.”

Beetlejuice smirked and watched a woman on the other side of the street reach into her bag. Just to mess with her, he had a snake pop out and hiss frantically; she dropped her purse ran off screaming, startling all other pedestrians around her. That was enough to make the evening worth it, even if the ‘spooky old bridge’ was a flop. Lydia elbowed him in the side.

“ _Beetlejuice_.”

“What?” Beetlejuice raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not venomous or anything!”

Lydia rolled her eyes and pointed at a street turnoff that had been blocked by several old and worn roadblocks. He arched an eyebrow; they were going down an abandoned street? That seemed promising. They continued down Oak Street, walking past the roadblocks that disallowed vehicle traffic, leaving the noise of the cars and small-town shops behind. The buildings started getting more rundown. The trees started standing taller, all bare branches and spindly, reaching up for a darkening sky. Twilight was oncoming; a good time for spooky things, regardless of seasons.

After a few more minutes of walking, he could see the tall, wood-based structure of the bridge. The wooden struts that held the framework up were clearly worn, with several pieces already missing. With rotted and hanging beams, it looked like a deathtrap. Beetlejuice could see why it was blocked-off. The police tape was also a nice addition. It would be really nice…

… if not for the other touristy, hipster-kids hanging on the beams and taking edgy photographs.

As if she was supremely proud of this rundown sight, Lydia gestured to the bridge and said, “Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s… a bridge,” he said, looking at the tall support beams that bent inward dangerously. He took a step onto the deck and the floor beams groaned. Something shivered and prickled along his skin as he mumbled, “Yeah. A bridge alright.”

“ _Yeah_. Apparently, it’s so rundown, the city blocked traffic from cars. They did it like… two years ago, saying they were going to replace the bridge.” She picked up her camera and took a wide-shot of the bridge. When the polaroid was spat out, she held it out to Beetlejuice and he happily waved it around in the air for her. “They haven’t actually started to build a replacement bridge, though. The detour is faster than taking this road, so the town doesn’t care if this doesn’t get replaced. So, the bridge has this cool abandoned look to it.”

It looked dangerous and accident-prone. Just what Beetlejuice enjoyed. What he didn’t enjoy, however, was the sheer amount of hipsters that were crawling all over the structure. They were taking “candid” photos of one another, dramatically posed and wrapped up in oversized sweaters and scarves. He watched for a minute, his nose wrinkling at the number of waxed-mustaches and shaved heads that _had_ to be cold without hats.

With a haughty sniff, Beetlejuice scratched the side of his nose and grumbled, “Could do without the hipsters, though.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and held up her camera. “ _Yeah_. Just look at the creepy bridge.” She gestured to a support beam covered in shimmering spiderwebs. “Look at the spiderwebs!” She paused to take a picture of a large, intricate web that was glittering with frost in the setting sun. Once the polaroid was kicked out, she stepped back and shook it while she smiled at Beetlejuice. “I figured if any of the spiders are like… _actually_ dangerous, you could eat them.”

“Yeah, I could do that.” He paused and looked around. The bridge looked ready to give out under the weight of twelve people that were wandering across the rotting wood. That same buzzing, itchy feeling was under his skin again. That feeling was familiar. One that he knew well. It meant there was a Guide coming on. An impending death that was on the books. With a shuddery step back, the wood planks under his feet shivered and groaned. “Hey, kid… let’s get out of here.”

“What? We _just_ got here.”

“Yeah, but I feel a Guide comin’ on. I’d rather it not be _you_ , so let’s get the hell out of here. We can go prank the old people in the park and make them crap their pants, _come on.”_

“Wait. Someone here on the bridge is going to need a guide?” Lydia had that glint in her eye; one that meant she was _hoping_ for something. One that meant she _wanted_ something. That look was never any good. “Who? Maybe… maybe we can stop it.” She looked so hopeful, like the prospect of pranking wasn’t as enticing as saving some strangers’ life on the bridge. She was a good kid… but it was going to get them in trouble. “Maybe we can save them.”

Beetlejuice grimaced. “Look, kid, I get that you wanna be all goody-goody. It’s probably Barbara and Adam being good influences on you and shit. But I’m not a life-saver. I’m a Guide to the Other Side. I just show them the fucking door.”

“But—”

“No. No buts, even if I _love_ butts. Seriously, we can’t stop it if they’re in the books already—”

Without listening to him, Lydia cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted: “Hey! Everybody needs to get off the bridge! Something’s gonna—” Beetlejuice clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her to the side of the bridge, ignoring the weird, judgmental stares of the hipsters.

A few of them actually retreated from the bridge, but the prickly feeling in his skin didn’t disappear. Holding Lydia’s arms tight, he leaned down and growled, “Lydia, what the _hell_ is wrong with you? I’m not supposed to save people. That’s not my fucking job. You know what happens if you stop a predetermined death? _They,_ ” he pointed to the ground, “ _Investigate._ That means everything in the immediate area is in fucking trouble. That means _me_ , kid. My _mom_ will know that _I_ was the reason someone didn’t die.”

Lydia glared at him and slapped his hands away. “But they don’t _have_ to die. I know I was all about death for a long time, but I’ve changed my mind. If they can live, we should give them a chance!”

More people were staring, several more were getting off the bridge. The wood groaned and the tingly feeling on his skin grew more intense, like there were bugs crawling under the fabric of his suit. But there _weren’t_ any. He knew that. This was a Guide, and _dammit_ he wasn’t going down for a _Guide Gone Wrong_.

“Lydia! Stop trying to fuck with this! This is deep Netherworld shit that you shouldn’t mess with! _It’s in the books!”_ He shouted, his voice cracking through the air loudly. He gripped her arms hard, and she fought his hold.

“That hurts!” He immediately let go, and Lydia took a step back. The support beams groaned uneasily. “Beetlejuice, why are you—”

“Don’t you _middle-name_ me, kid! I’m doing this for your own—” something in the bridge snapped. The Guide came on strong. With quick hands, he grabbed Lydia’s arms, lifted her off the ground, and threw her as hard as he could.

She went flying off the bridge, hitting the dirt hard as bystanders shouted and backed away in alarm. Lydia managed to lift her head and glare at him… just as the bridge buckled under his feet. He felt the wood giving out. He stumbled as it began to collapse beneath him. Lydia looked at him. She looked scared. He couldn’t blame her.

She managed to sputter, “Beetlejuice—”

Before the bridge snapped, collapsed, and took Beetlejuice along for the ride. He felt the wood give way under his feet, the sickening feeling in his stomach as he fell through open air… he heard Lydia scream. People around her were shrieking in shock. The air was cold, moving in slow motion as Beetlejuice pinwheeled his arms. The prickling, burning feeling of the Guide was gone. He was going to be caught subverting a planned death. His mother was going to know it was _him_. Panic seeped in fast and quick like a needle slipping under the skin. But this time, there were no drugs pushed into his veins. No, it was just fear. Fear that made his hair turn bone-white.

And then he hit the ice-cold water.

+++++

Adam fought with the remote. There were so many buttons... why were there so many buttons? Things had changed since he died, and he wasn’t enjoying the extra buttons that did absolutely nothing. His hands were shaking as Barbara watched the TV. After a fair amount of struggling, a News Station flickered onscreen.

“Oh! Oh, you got it!” She squeaked, reaching over to grab one of his belt loops and pull him onto the sofa. Once there, they watched an Urgent Report. A woman with blonde hair looked into the camera and delivered a melodramatic reading of a teleprompter.

_“Chaos erupted south of Oak Street early this evening when the Smith Bridge, closed off to traffic, collapsed without warning.”_

Adam took Barbara’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Oh god,” he whispered, seeing the terrified glint in his wife’s eyes. “Oh god...”

The reporter continued. _“We go to Nick, who is live on the scene. Nick?”_

The screen split in two, showing a young African-American man holding a microphone in one hand and checking his earpiece with the other. _“Thank you, Joanne. A favorite hangout for youths and photography-fans has been lost tonight. And though the Smith bridge had been blocked from the main road, foot-traffic has been regular. The condemned bridge just couldn’t handle the weight of—"_

The front door opened, and Adam and Barbara were on their feet, wide eyed and hopeful. Delia and Charles stepped into the living room. The hope fizzled out as Delia gave them a baffled look.

“You look like you two have seen a ghost. Ha!” She reaches back and slapped Charles’ arm. “I told you that joke would be funny!”

Adam wrung his hands. “Have you heard the sirens?”

Charles hung up their coats, giving Adam a baffled look. “Sirens?”

Barbara couldn’t contain herself any longer and said (really, she shouted), “Lydia took Beetlejuice to see the Smith bridge and it collapsed!”

The house was wrapped in a discomforting quiet, broken only by the Nick the Reporter’s voice.

_“—according to eye witnesses, a man and a young woman were seen arguing on the bridge shortly before it collapsed.”_

Nick held the microphone out to a man with a braided beard who immediately rattled off, _“He was_ nuts _, man! Green hair, striped suit... they were really going at it. Then he just, like... picked her up? It was crazy! He just... threw her off the bridge!”_

Nick took the microphone back, looking a little stricken. _“He threw her into the river?”_

Braided-Beard shook his head. _“Nah, nah, dude... he threw her off the bridge over here. On the dirt. Then it all fell apart. If he hadn’t pushed her, she would’ve gone in, too.”_

Nick was somber as he turned back to the camera and said, _“Rescue efforts are still underway, but with the sheer amount of debris, it will be difficult to find the only man that went down with the bridge. It’s a miracle that no one else aside from the unknown man was injured. After trying to find the young woman, authorities say she must have fled the scene in panic. As for the unnamed man, our thoughts and prayers go out to him. We hope he’s recovered from the wreckage and delivered back to his family safely. Back to you, Joanne.”_

Adam’s legs went wobbly and he fell back onto the couch. He reached blindly for Barbara, holding her hand as he stared, unseeing, at the television. “Oh _god_ … we shouldn’t have let them go. We shouldn’t have…”

“He’s… he’s going to be okay. He should be just fine.” Barbara looked at him, a little helpless as she said, “I mean… he’s already dead. So… so falling into the river can’t be that terrible.”

Unconvinced by this information, Charles went back to grab his coat, pulling it back on as he said, “I’m going to go find them. Delia, stay here and stay by the phone. Call me if they get home before I do.”

Delia fumbled a little, looking around the house as she said, “You should take some blankets. Just in case they got cold.”

Barbara numbly took the quilt from the back of the sofa, handing it to Delia so it could be tossed to Charles. He took it, kissed Delia on the cheek, and disappeared out the door. It left Adam and Barbara shaking a little as they reached out to hold one another. They _knew_ that Beetlejuice was already dead. They _knew_ that he wasn’t going to have any lasting scars. Even so, they could only imagine the pain he would have to endure in the meantime.

+++++

_Twenty Minutes Earlier_

The ice in the water wasn’t really the issue; Beetlejuice had been completely frozen before. It wasn’t extremely fun, but it did scare people when they came across his frozen-solid body. No, it was everything else in the water.

A supporting beam for the bridge had come down on top of him, smashing into his skull and giving him the worst headache he’d had since the time he was guillotined in France. So he drifted in the river for a while, weighed down under the ice that had formed on the rivers’ surface. He let his skull heal itself... felt the pinpricks of cold... and then eventually the numb of it. And then: the tug.

That forceful, knowing pull under his ribcage. Someone was saying his name. Lydia. He could hear her. Breathless like she’d been running. Again. She said it a second time. It shocked him into swallowing riveter water as he scratched blindly at his chest, trying to get rid of the feeling. Before he could manage to break one of his frozen fingers, Lydia said his name again.

“ _Beetlejuice_!”

Without warning, he was dropped in the snow, gagging and wheezing as Lydia stood over him with wide eyes. After a bit of heaving, he managed to vomit up a stomach-full of freezing river water, shivering on the ground like a striped, drowned rat. That was better. A belly full of dirty water felt wrong... and sloshy. And cold. Wiping his mouth with the back of a numb hand, he sat back on his heels and shook violently. Cold wasn’t fun, even for a dead guy.

“Okay,” he rasped, glancing at Lydia’s pinched expression. “Not a fan of the ice-bath. I think I like the hot showers better.”

“Are you okay? I just... I saw you drop, and I panicked.” Dropping to her knees, Lydia put her hands on Beetlejuice’s shoulders, as if she had to make sure he was really there. She withdrew her hands quickly, shaking the water off her fingerless gloves. Still, her eyes were wide and frightened. “This is an emergency, right?”

Beetlejuice blinked sluggishly, his body still quivering from the cold despite the fact he didn’t want it to. “What?”

“This is an _emergency_ , right? Because... because the rules say no summoning you. Without... without an emergency. That was your rule,” Lydia said urgently, her hands fisted in her lap as she looked around the trees urgently. They were alone. She must have run from the other bystanders and hid in the trees... just so she could summon him. She looked back to him, and Beetlejuice felt something twist in his chest when she said, “I saw you go under... and I thought...”

Beetlejuice let out a strangled laugh. “Did you think I was going to drown? Lydia, I’m already dead. A little dip isn’t gonna do much.”

Sniffling a little, Lydia laughed, too. She still looked shaken, but it was clear her worries had been soothed for the most part. “Yeah... yeah, I guess.”

Without warning, she leaned forward and hugged him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him close. Her body felt jarringly warm against his own ice-encrusted self, and he shivered a little harder against her.

“I’m drenched in frozen water, kid.”

“I know.”

“You’re gonna get soggy.”

“I know,” Lydia gripped his coat and huffed. The heat hurt, but he wasn’t about to pass up a comforting hug. Then, Lydia said: “I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Beetlejuice blinked hard — his watery eyelashes nearly froze together in the cold air — and coughed, “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t... listen. You told me it was dangerous. You knew there was a Guide and I didn’t take you seriously.”

Snorting a laugh, Beetlejuice reached out and gave Lydia’s back a fond pat. “Hey, no worries, Lyds. No one wants to listen to me. It’s like my mom always says—"

“ _Shut up!”_ Lydia snapped, her arms tight enough around his neck to choke. “Just... shut up for a minute, okay?”

Beetlejuice felt strangled, and it wasn’t from Lydia’s death-grip. “Okay,” he whispered.

Lydia sighed heavily. “I know we play around a lot. And I know we’re just two really messed-up people. But I should’ve listened. Because... because you’re worth listening to. I don’t care whatever crap your mom fed you.”

Again, he whispered, “Okay.”

“Right before the bridge fell... I saw you go white.” There was a pause, and then, “We should’ve left. I’m sorry.”

One more time, he said, “Okay.”

After that, Lydia leaned back and made a face. “Now I’m all damp.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “If only Wednesday were here to hear you say that.”

“Okay, now seriously shut up,” she deadpanned before giving him a hard look. “You look like a drowned rat.”

With a hand that was slightly-less numb than before, Beetlejuice slicked back his hair and grinned. “Thanks, kid.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lydia unwound her scarf from her neck and sloppily wrapped it around his neck — and, in turn, covered up his mouth. He smiled at the gesture, though.

“Lydia, you know I’m dead right?” He mumbled into the fabric of the scarf. She ignored him. “I don’t need a scarf. The cold isn’t going to kill me. I’m already dead.”

Lydia shrugged, unbothered... and then the sirens started. They were loud and wailing. Beetlejuice pursed his lips; no one in the area had died. The Guide had been a flop and he was going to be investigated... but the sirens screeched anyway.

“Firetrucks...” Lydia said to herself as she stood up. “One of the other people must’ve called 911. They probably think you’re still in the river.”

Beetlejuice hummed and shakily got to his feet. “Think I should jump back in? I could let them drag me out. Oh! I’ve always wanted to scare someone by waking up on an autopsy table!”

Lydia pursed her lips. “Since your death isn’t a mystery, I’m not sure they’d perform and autopsy.”

“ _Bastards_ ,” Beetlejuice growled. Lydia took his damp hand in her own and pulled him forward.

“C’mon, Beej. Let’s go home,” she looked back at him and grinned. “Before one of the hipsters sees you and freaks out.”

Beetlejuice groaned. “But Lydia! That would be _hilarious_!”

She laughed and pulled him along anyway, heading back toward the lights of town as she said, “Yeah, but I know something even scarier.”

“Ooh, what?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Adam and Barbara will have heard the sirens. Know what that means?” Beetlejuice felt very small when she said, “It means they’re gonna be worried out of their minds for us.”

After a moment of fake deliberation, Beetlejuice willingly followed Lydia through the cold, early-evening air. “Sure, alright, you convinced me. Let’s go home.”

They were just reaching the roadblocks for the Smith bridge when Lydia saw her fathers’ Mercedes. He must’ve noticed them – Beetlejuice was hard to miss with his striped suit – and pulled over. There, he rolled down the passenger-side window and gave the duo an exasperated, anxious look. Without anything else to say, he simply announced:

“The channel twelve news thinks Beetlejuice drowned in the river.”

Beetlejuice gave him a dry smile. “Nice to see you, too, Chuckles.”

With a world-weary sigh, Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured for the two of them to get in. “There’s a blanket in the back. Wrap it around Beetlejuice… and let’s go home.”

Beetlejuice got in, of course he did… but the blanket was a mystery. It was the quilt that Barbara had made with some of her free time… so why was it in the car? He didn’t get to ask questions as he sat down – his socks made a weird squelching sound in his shoes – and had the blanket unceremoniously thrown across him. Next to him, Lydia smiled at her handiwork.

Charles pulled away from the curb and steered them towards home.

After a solid minute of silence, Charles pulled up to a red stoplight and dropped his hands into his lap. “So,” he said lowly. “The bridge collapsed.”

“Yeah,” Lydia said bluntly.

Charles was stoic in the front seat, staring straight ahead as he said, “Were either of you hurt?”

Lydia sunk in her seat a little, giving Beetlejuice a long, meaningful look. “ _I’m_ fine.”

“I’m a little waterlogged,” Beetlejuice said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of frozen minnows. Lydia lifted her camera, took a picture, and then rolled down the window so Beetlejuice could toss them outside. “Other than that, I’m fucking _dandy_.”

Charles stared at the stop light, and freshly falling snow lightered in the light of the streetlamps, flickering and catching the light as the quiet stretched out. “Did you really _throw_ Lydia?” He asked after a few long seconds. Beetlejuice quirked and eyebrow and found Charles looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Someone on the news said you picked her up and threw her.”

“He did,” Lydia piped up, a hint of edge in her voice. “He’s lucky he didn’t break my camera.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, and Beetlejuice shrugged tiredly. “Look, I wouldn’t just let Lydia get crushed by a bridge. That’s not my kind of kink.”

There was a slight pause, and the traffic light turned green. The car crept forward, with Charles hands calm on the steering wheel. After a long minute of Beetlejuice shivering and showing off his bluer-than-usual fingers to Lydia, Charles spoke up and said, “Thank you, Beetlejuice. For taking the fall.”

With a glance at Lydia, Beetlejuice tucked his hands back under the quilt, pulled it a little closer, and mumbled, “Don’t mention it.”

And he didn’t. He didn’t say anything else about the bridge of the sirens or the several police cars that were filing down Oak Street on a futile mission. They were going to be searching for a body they wouldn’t be able to find. He was right there, in the car. Not that he would go out of his way to soothe the worries of the Boys in Blue. They were fine dragging the river. Maybe they would come together and make a new bridge. That would be a fine use of their time.

Reaching over, Lydia nudged Beetlejuice’s shoulder and said. “Beej. We’re home.”

Beetlejuice blinked and gathered the guilt up in his arms, clambering out of the car on uncoordinated feet. Lydia met him on the other side of the car, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked up the front steps and into the warmth of a well-heated house.

As soon as they made it through the door, Delia had her arms around Lydia, holding her close. Lydia stumbled under the weight of her before hugging back. “Hi, Delia.”

Delia pulled back to hold her shoulders with a comically distressed look. “We were all so _worried_ about you!”

Lydia leaned back to give her a narrow-eyed look. “But you knew I was with Beej.”

The distressed look melted away to reveal a relieved smile. “Yeah, we did. I kept telling them you’d be fine. Beetlejuice is—” she paused, looked at Beetlejuice, and he nose wrinkled. “Beetlejuice looks like a drowned rat.”

Beetlejuice pumped his fist in the air. “Ha! Two people have said it! Lyds, I’m on a roll.”

Quickly standing from the sofa, the Maitlands were across the room, playing the part of distressed family members complete with wringing hands and watery eyes. Again, Delia said, “I kept telling them you’d be fine.”

Adam glanced at the quilt in Beetlejuice’s hands, up to his face, and then back to the quilt. He looked thoroughly shaken. “You… you really did fall into the river.”

Beetlejuice nodded. “Sure did.”

Barbara put a hand on Adam’s wrist and murmured, “And you… you did it to save Lydia. You fell into a _frozen river_ … so Lydia wouldn’t get hurt.”

Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose. “You make it sound like I did something heroic.”

“It was,” Charles said as he hung up his coat. Once there, Lydia walked up to him, held out her arms, and he gathered her up in a tight hug. “We’re all very grateful for what you did.”

“This is a _huge_ change from the last time I saved Lydia,” Beetlejuice laughed uneasily as he scratched a hand through his wet – and partially icy – hair. “I mean, seriously. All I did was pick her up and throw her on the ground. You’re makin’ me out to be some fucking angel while I just—”

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara said, her voice low and stern from across the room.

He froze, meeting her steely eyes a little anxiously. She was a little spitfire with those eyes of hers, just _waiting_ to tell him something. Beetlejuice liked that about her. But it also meant she could snap at him at any given moment. He was always doing something wrong. But what had he done this time? He’d saved Lydia from getting smashed by a falling bridge. He’d followed the House Rules as best he could and had been working very hard on keeping his hands to himself. So why was she looking at him like that?

She walked forward, coming at him the way a jungle cat stalks its prey. It was very sexy. It was also very intimidating. He saw the furrow of her brow, the thought that marked her face... it wasn’t nearly as scary as Juno, but rejection stung just like any torture.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did I do _now_?” Pressing himself back against the wall of the entryway, he tried to make himself a little smaller as he mumbled, “Don’t pull on my ear again. That hurt like a bitch.”

At that, her expression softened. Barbara shook her head just once, reaching up to touch his cheek. She was so soft. So gentle. Her hands were dry against his cold, clammy skin, and in comparison to the layer of ice that had formed on him, she was _almost_ warm. He wanted to kiss her. To dip her back and taste all of her until there was nothing left... but he held still. There was something off about this touch. She wasn’t faking it. She wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Beetlejuice,” she said once more, soft and a little unsure. He looked at her uneasily.

“Yeah?”

She cupped his cheeks, pulled him down ever so carefully, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Just a little one. One that he’d seen her give Adam. The kind of soft, tender kisses that were saved for those ‘Have a good day, honey’ moments. Beetlejuice had never experienced one of those. He’d seen it a million times... but never felt it. He’d kissed many, many people before, living and dead alike, but not like this.

He’d never been touched so carefully. Like she was afraid he’d disappear if she pulled too hard or fast.

Without thought, he dropped the quilt, closed his eyes, and kissed back, rushing in for all that he could take... only to have the hands on his face stop him. She held him at bay, keeping him level and complacent as she pulled back to look at him. He stared. She stared back. The living room was silent. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Then, with a quick pat to his cheek, Barbara smiled and chirped, “Goodnight!”

Beetlejuice blinked a few times, already missing the feeling of her standing there, right in arms reach, as she twirled away and made a hasty retreat for the stairs. She grabbed Adam’s wrist as she went, tugging him along as he gave her a bewildered look. Halfway up the stairs she smiled nervously and said, “Goodnight everyone!”

The Deetz’s nodded and murmured their goodnights. Beetlejuice gaped at the quickly fleeing couple. The door to the attic creaked open... then closed. They were gone. The room was still quiet... and his arms were still up, waiting for Barbara to walk back into them. But she didn’t. His drenched suitcoat simply dripped onto the hardwood floors as he stared blankly at the wall.

He looked at Lydia helplessly. “Was that... weird?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little awed as she looked at the stairwell. Maybe she expected the Maitlands to come back down, to say that it had been a prank. Beetlejuice wouldn’t be surprised. They hated him... didn’t they? The date night thing was a misunderstanding... wasn’t it? He frowned as Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Yeah, that was... pretty weird.”

“Cool, cool,” Beetlejuice nodded as he scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “Just making sure it wasn’t me.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look. “Did you...?” She waved her hands in a wiggly motion. “You know. Possess...?”

Feeling his temper flare, Beetlejuice shouted, “You think I’d possess Barbs? You _fucking kidding me?”_

On the sofa, Delia raised her hands in a gentle, open-palm display. “Please, Beetlejuice... inside-voices.”

Beetlejuice struggled to reign himself in, searching for that happy medium between monotone and megaphone as he pushed a hand through his sopping-wet hair. “Fucking... fine. Fine. Okay. I’m cool.” He paused, then waved his arm widely as he said, “No! Changed my mind, I’m _not_ cool! This is bullshit! She comes at me — throws herself at me — and you think I possessed her? I’m following your rules!”

Lydia took a calm step back as he started to pace the floor. “Beej, chill, I was just asking—"

With a snap of his fingers, Beetlejuice pulled the written House Rules from thin air. There, he held it and shook it like he was showing evidence in a court. “Isn’t the whole… _knowing consent_ thing part of this? I like to fuck the system — figuratively and literally — just as much as the next demon, but I’m not breaking these rules! I wouldn’t make her do that!”

Charles poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen. How were they all so calm about this? It was almost irritating to see how relaxed they were. If anything, Charles looked mildly intrigued as he took a sip and said, “And we’re not trying to doubt your integrity. You’ve been doing very well for the past month.” He paused, looked at Beetlejuice, and said, “Maybe you should get changed. That suit must be freezing.”

Turning over the list in his hands, Beetlejuice ignored the advice as he frowned hard at the rules. Rules he’d been following. Rules he’d struggled to follow. Rules he’d _learned_ about. And now... Barbara came and threw a curveball. God, that made her at least 20% more attractive, bringing it to a satisfying 120% hotness level.

“I didn’t grab at her,” he said, scanning the rules. “Didn’t... make... unwanted advances... didn’t touch the naughty bits... so why...?”

Lydia threw herself onto the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. Delia tutted, and Lydia slowly slid her feet back to the floor. “I don’t know, Beej,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe the whole... ‘good demon’ thing is working for you.”

Beetlejuice gave her a strange look. “But... they’re so... normal. And married. And they hated it when I kissed them before.”

Delia raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t they die in the eighties?” She said, mostly to herself. “That means they were teens in the seventies. Quite the open environment for exploring sexualities and relationships.”

Lydia kicked off her boots and tucked her feet under herself. “Cool.”

Charles, however, looked a little uneasy as he set his water glass aside. “This doesn’t mean she’s ‘exploring’ per se. it could be a misunderstanding. There are nuances to kisses.”

Lydia gave her father a look. “Oh yeah?”

Now, Charles was very uncomfortable. “Not that... not that exploring is wrong. There are limits, I’m sure, but—"

Beetlejuice cut him off. “Chuck, I say this with love: shut up. You’re shoving your foot so far in your mouth, I think it’s partially digested.”

Charles made a pinched expression. “Thank you... for that visual.”

Beetlejuice waved that away. “That’s not the problem. Seriously... why would she kiss me? I thought they were still a little prickly with me. Trying to be buddy-buddy for...” he gestured to Lydia. “Well, for you, kid.”

Lydia arched an eyebrow. “We all agreed to give you a chance,” she said, gesturing to the House Rules in his hand. “I think you following the rules got you on their good side.”

“But I’m gross.”

“Yeah, you’re gross, but not _nearly_ as bad as you used to be.” Lydia crosses her legs and shrugged. “Your suit isn’t as gross. You wash your hair, now. I dunno. You’re less of a chaotic-dumbass demon and more of a... weird, crazy uncle.”

Beetlejuice held a hand to his un-beating heart and cooed, “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said you me.”

“Shut up,” Lydia snorted as she inspected her camera for any scuffs or scratches. “Point is, you’re a lot less creepy now. I think that’s good.”

He frowned. “I’m... I’m still weird though, right?”

Lydia smiled at him. “Yeah, you’re weird.”

He let out a happy sigh. “Oh, good. Thought I lost my Weird Card for a minute.”

“Mr. Juice,” Charles said from the kitchen, his finger tapping the side of his water glass. “Really, you should get changed. You’re dripping on the carpet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beetlejuice frowned and looked down at his worn, soaked shoes. Having no dirt between himself and the wet clothes as _not_ a good feeling. Considering hot water always felt like a hug (not as good as a real Maitland hug, but he digressed) maybe a shower would be a good idea. So he started to peel off his wet jacket as he headed for the guest room, leaving his water-heavy shoes on the living room floor as he went. On his way, he gave Delia a wry smile. “Now I _know_ I’m _dripping_ with sexual energy, but don’t throw yourself at me, Delilah.”

Delia raised her eyebrows, a bland, unimpressed expression on her face as she said, “I’ll contain the urge.”

Tossing his coat over his shoulder, Beetlejuice made sure to pivot and sway his hips on the way up the stairs. Before he could disappear around the corner, Charles called after him, “Thank you again, Beetlejuice. For helping Lydia.”

“ _Don’t go spreading that around,”_ Beetlejuice growled as he threw his voice around the living room. “ _I’m in enough trouble as it is.”_

Even if he said that, no one questioned him. No one stopped him on his way. Really, they were all still distracted by Barbara and her kiss that came from nowhere. He thought about that while he showered, scrubbing at his gray, dead skin until it absorbed the warmth of the water and left him feeling puffy and raw where he stood in the steam and spray. Normally, thinking of either Maitlands would be _prime_ masturbation material… but he was still confused.

Why the hell did she do that? It had to be a joke. A joke that _obviously_ backfired with the way she ran away and hid in the attic immediately after. She was probably just trying to be dramatic with the way she thanked him… but this was _Barbara_. Sure, she was dramatic; she loved to flail and dance (even if it was bad) but she was _also_ smart. She wouldn’t just kiss a guy that wasn’t Adam. She was one of those devoted wives. The ones that held onto their husbands and loved and loved until the sun burned out.

And that’s where Beetlejuice was stuck when he turned off the hot water, staring down at the shower drain with a thoughtful expression. Why would she do that? Just… kiss him like she _really_ wanted to. Kiss him like he’d hardly been kissed before… not even by Adam. Adam had used tongue – he tasted like burnt coffee, Beetlejuice still remembered – but Barbara didn’t. She kept her mouth closed and kissed him so carefully… he felt almost… what was the word? Honored? Cherished? No, that seemed too respectful – even if it _was_ what he’d been feeling.

Trying to shake of this… _whatever the fuck_ Barbara had planted in the pit of his chest, Beetlejuice shrugged on Charles’ old sweatshirt and pajama pants, burrowing deep in the soft cotton and letting the heat of the shower soak into the fabric. He felt like a walking hot-water bottle as he shuffled back into the guest room and slid under the blankets. The blankets held the heat _even better_.

“Beetlejuice,” Adam’s voice called softly. Beetlejuice growled and sidled down in the blankets a little further. He was _just_ getting comfortable and he wasn’t going to let his conscious scream at him for kissing Barbara. He hadn’t made the first move. _She_ had. He had no reason to feel guilty (even if he kissed back) and Adam’s voice was all in his head. He _shouldn’t_ feel guilty. There was no reason to—“Beetlejuice? Are you asleep?”

Wait a minute.

Beetlejuice opened his eyes to see Adam standing over his bed, a pensive look on his face. Interesting. Adam was on his left and on his right, Barbara was looking down at him with that same, jittery look on her face. _Very interesting_.

“Whaddya want?” Beetlejuice slurred, too comfortable to move from his cocoon of blankets. Barbara reached out to push some of the blankets under his chin, so he wasn’t muffled by the fabric. He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Come here to lecture me?”

“N-no,” Barbara said as she sat down on the bed. She fidgeted for a minute, her hands fluttering a bit before she blinked and said, “Oh. Oh, can I sit for a minute? We can leave, if you… if you want to—”

Beetlejuice snuck a hand out from under the blankets to touch the side of her thigh. She was cold. Much colder than his shower-warmed skin. But he didn’t pull away. Barbara went quiet, and Beetlejuice sighed, “What do you guys want?”

“A relationship,” Barbara sputtered listlessly. Adam was silent the same way a man on trial for murder was silent, wide-eyed and ready for the order of execution. Beetlejuice stared. After a solid minute, Barbara said, “With… _you_. A relationship with you. If that wasn’t clear.”

Beetlejuice sniffed and stared at her for a minute. “What?”

Barbara fiddled with her hands a little more, looking like she’d jump out of her skin if she wasn’t careful. His hand was resting next to her thigh, and after a moment, she reached out to take it, sending happy little pinpricks up and down his arm at the contact. “See, you… before, you were so unapproachable. Almost unnerving, when we first met. But these weeks… the past month or so, getting to _know_ you… you’re a good person, Beetlejuice.”

“I’m a demon, Babs.”

“A demon with a heart of gold,” Adam said with that warm, proud smile that Beetlejuice had only ever seen him use on Barbara. This time, it was directed at him. It was almost startling.

Wrinkling his nose, Beetlejuice said, “So… you got to know me and… what? You want a side-bitch?”

“No!” Both Maitlands squeaked at the same time, their faces going impressive shades of red for dead people before they collected themselves. Barbara spoke first, insistent and serious as she said, “We want a _relationship_. An _equal_ relationship, between… the three of us. I thought… well, Adam and I both had some thoughts in the past, but… well, I think being so worried about you this evening brought things to a boil.”

Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes. “The water was frozen.”

“A metaphorical boil, Beej,” Adam said calmly as he sat on the bed. Beetlejuice was officially bracketed on both sides, caged in and surrounded by soft, squishy ghosts that were looking at him like something to be _treasured_ … it was disgusting. It was also _very_ appealing. “See, we’ve done this before. Having a third person in our relationship. It wasn’t perfect and… really, it didn’t end well. He… well, he broke our agreement that we’d all be on equal footing.”

“But!” Barbara said quickly, her hand tight around Beetlejuice’s. “I really don’t think that would happen with you! We were… so wary about it. Asking another person to join us, I mean… we thought about it. Before we died, but… never got the chance to… actually…”

Shifting a little under the covers, Beetlejuice blinked sluggishly. “So you guys had a shit threesome and you think it’ll be better with me? My sexual reputation – my sexutation, if you would – proceeds me. I’m flattered, Babs.”

Barbara flushed and shook her head. “That’s not—we didn’t—well. We _did_ , but that’s a separate topic all together.” She took a breath she didn’t need and looked down at him. “Beetlejuice. I kissed you because I genuinely _care_ about you. I was _worried_ about you. I have… I have _feelings_ for you.”

Beetlejuice blinked slowly, a single eyebrow arched as he looked at Adam. “Your wife wants me to be her side-hoe.”

Adam visibly struggled to contain his laughter, his jaw working furiously as he exhaled heavily through his nose. “She wants you to be in a _relationship_ with us, Beetlejuice.” He hesitated, then smiled down at Beetlejuice. “So do I.”

There was a long pause, and Beetlejuice sniffled and sighed, “So you guys _do_ want a threesome. Gotcha. But I literally _just_ got warmed up and getting sloppy with you guys will be _cold._ So maybe we could hold off for like… an _hour_? Can you wait that long or—”

“Beetlejuice,” Adam said sternly. “This isn’t about sex.”

Barbara looked off to the side. “ _Well_ …”

“ _Barbara_ ,” Adam gasped, a smile clear on his face while Beetlejuice smirked.

“Barbie has a dirty mind,” Beetlejuice grinned as he squeezed her hand. With a giggle, Barbara looked down at him.

“Barbie?” She asked. Beetlejuice shrugged, and she giggled again. “I like it.”

“Yeah, well,” Beetlejuice took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Like I said, I’m warm here. Don’t think I could get it up if you pulled me out from under the blankets right now.” He glanced at Adam. “Unless you put on a show. Then I might.”

Shifting a little where he sat, Adam looked a little discomforted. “Beetlejuice, do you… do you know what we’re asking?”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice grunted. “You want a threesome. Lots of people do. No judgement. I’m down… just not right now.” He wiggled his feet. “’m warm.”

“We want… Beetlejuice, we want you to be part of our relationship,” Barbara said, like he hadn’t heard them earlier. He _had_. They wanted to fuck. He understood that, so why was she— “We want to share what we have… with you.”

Oh. _Oh_ , that was different. That was _very_ different. He glanced between the two of them a few times, his brain slow and body heavy with fatigue as he mumbled, “You mean like… you, me, Adam… all together. Three-ways and shit. With the hand-holding and the cuddling and all that boring shit you do.”

Adam laughed at that, and Beetlejuice felt something in his chest flipflop at the sound. Barbara squeezed his hand and he looked at her, enraptured by the smile on her face as she nodded shyly. “Yes, that’s what we want. To share our time with you. To share our affection. And… all the boring stuff, too.”

Beetlejuice gave Adam a scrutinizing look. “And you _both_ want that.”

Adam glanced at him, then scratched a hand through his hair nervously. “Yeah, of course. We wouldn’t make this kind of thing up.”

Thinking for a moment, Beetlejuice pursed his lips. “And if I say ‘sure,’ we do all that mushy boring stuff that you guys do.” The Maitlands nodded, and he added, “Plus sex.”

“I’d rather take things slow!” Adam said loudly, his hands held up in surrender as his face went beet red. Barbara smiled, and Adam tucked his hands back in his lap. “Just… I think we should go one step at a time.”

“Not sure what that means, Hotcakes,” sighed Beetlejuice as he closed his eyes. “God, I’m fucking tired.”

Without warning, Barbara’s hand reached out to push his damp hair from his face, and Beetlejuice heard himself _purr_ at the feeling. Barbara’s hand flinched when the sound started but resumed when the sound remained benign.

“Should we leave?” She asked after a moment. “You do look pretty worn out. Plus, I can only imagine how cold that river was.”

Beetlejuice let out another rumbling purr – he didn’t even know he could _do_ that – and shrugged tiredly. “’s whatever. Had to…” he yawned, “Make sure Lydia was okay.”

“That was very good of you,” Adam said, his hand landing as a solid pressure through the blankets on his shoulder. Beetlejuice cracked his eyes open to look at him, and Adam smiled. “We don’t need an answer this minute, Beetlejuice. I think we were just caught up in the urgency… but you’re tired.” He waved Barbara away, and Beetlejuice immediately missed the feeling of her hand in his as she stood up. “C’mon, Barbara… let’s let him sleep—”

Sitting up fast, Beetlejuice threw off the blankets, grabbed Adam, and tugged him back down. Adam stumbled and sat back on the bed, his eyes wide before Beetlejuice looked him in the eye and growled, “Yeah.”

Adam blinked, a little confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. To the thing. _This_ thing,” he gestured to himself and the Maitlands vaguely. “I want it. I want in.”

Barbara was practically bouncing where she stood at the foot of the bed, a wide, excited smile on her face while Adam continued to blink in surprise. “You… really? It’s… It’s not just sex, Beetlejuice. We mean—”

“Yeah. Touching without putting hands in pants, lying in bed without handcuffs, and all the squishy feelings. I get it.” Beetlejuice gripped Adam’s arm tight. Adam winced, and he immediately let go. “I want that. I want you. Both of you. Didn’t think I could… but you guys offered. You offered and I said ‘yes’ and you can’t take it back now.”

Adam chuckled a little. “I don’t think I was planning on taking it back.”

That little shit. Beetlejuice grabbed him, pinned him back against the mattress, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Adam stiffened under the pressure, and Beetlejuice caught himself for a moment; Barbara had given him one of those closed-mouth kisses. Like the soft ones that she often gave Adam. Maybe that’s what Adam _liked_. So he tried it.

It felt _excessively_ boring. Just lips slotted together as he kissed Adam with barely-contained energy. And Adam… he _opened up_ under that kiss. His chin tilted up, his mouth opening just a bit so he could bite down on Beetlejuice’s lower lip. Oh, that was _nice_. Better than just licking whatever he could get. This was like solving a puzzle and getting a damn _reward_ for it. He pulled back, and Adam stared up at him, a little dazed.

“You kissed back,” Beetlejuice said, a little lost for words. Adam blinked a few times, his eyelashes a little fluttery, and Beetlejuice said, “ _You kissed back_.”

“Wha—of course I did,” Adam said softly. “I… I thought I made it clear that we _both_ want you in the relationship.”

Barbara bounced a little more. “Oh… _oh_ , now I’m jealous.”

Beetlejuice looked at her. _Really_ looked at her. She was _jealous_? Months ago, when he’d been a breath away from killing everyone, she’d been disgusted by him. Now she was jealous. It was a wonder what a little structure and a few rules could do. With a slow, tired blink, he pat the blankets on his right.

“Get over here, Barbie. I’ll give you all the sugar you want.”

Barbara dipped her chin and gave him a knowing look. “You’re exhausted.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get your panties wet in five seconds.”

“Beetlejuice!” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, clearly fighting with the idea of sitting with him or leaving. “We’re taking things slow, like Adam said.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Beetlejuice droned. “Light petting, then.”

With another laugh, Barbara came to sit on the right side of the bed. “We’ll see,” she promised as she laid back against the pillows. He laid back with her, looking between the Maitlands with tired eyes. Once his eyes landed back on Barbara, she smiled and shifted down until they were at eye-level. “Hi.”

“Hey, Babs.”

She gave a breathy laugh. “This feels funny. I haven’t laid with anyone but Adam since…” she paused, her expression going a little unsure as she said, “Since college, I guess.”

“It’s nice, though,” Adam sighed on Beetlejuice’s left.

Beetlejuice looked at him, and Adam already had his eyes closed, like he was finally getting a nap after a long, tiring day of being stuck indoors. After a minute, Adam rolled over and put hand over Beetlejuice, like he needed to hold him to the blankets or he’d wander off. Beetlejuice liked the pressure. It made him feel warm as the blankets were pulled up again. Two Maitlands, one on each side, sidled close, leeching off his warmth… but he didn’t care. He’d never felt so _safe_. It was almost discomforting, and he was left waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Feeling his eyelids growing heavier with each blink, Beetlejuice turned to face Barbara. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, comfortable and cozy where she lay half on top of him. She and Adam held hands atop Beetlejuice’s stomach, an actual, physical line that held the three of them together.

“Babs,” Beetlejuice purred, low and dark. Barbara looked at him, and he managed to press one of those soft kisses to her lips. “You look good in my bed.”

Barbara gave him a dreamy-eyed smile as Adam chuckled, “You’re just as soft as I thought you’d be. The facial hair is a little scratchy, though.”

“Kind of itchy!” Barbara agreed with a soft sigh as she settled back down. “But it’s not a bad feeling.”

Beetlejuice preened at the praise. “Better than your shit threesome in college?”

The Maitlands were quiet for a minute, and Beetlejuice lost some confidence. Maybe he was just a replacement for the third-wheel they’d had in college. Maybe he wasn’t even _better_ than the third-wheel. Maybe he was _worse_ and they didn’t know how to break it to him. Maybe… he glanced between the two of them and saw something sad flicker across their faces. There was a story there. Something had gone wrong… but they didn’t want to say it. Beetlejuice didn’t want to hear it.

Manifesting a few extra arms, he wrapped them around the Maitlands and pulled them closer. Adam welcomed the embrace, leaning into Beetlejuice with vigor while Barbara shifted until he let go. She smiled, though, and that was more than enough.

“This is much, much better,” she said after a disheartening moment. Adam nodded, and Beetlejuice finally relaxed against the blankets. “So much better.”


	8. Safe Place (Reprise)

There are very few things that connect the Living world to the Netherworld more than _dreams_. Actually being dead brings up the doorway. Being a half-dead brings up conditions and thin spots in the spaces between the worlds. But what ties the worlds together? What fills in the gaps and bridges the paths with no doors, no windows, and no entrance or exit?

Dreams.

They’re never remembered by the living – even if they were, it wouldn’t mean much. A brief glance at a box behind a shelf. A flicker of a desk they didn’t recognize. A hint of a time before a time and a face they’d almost… _almost_ remember. But it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t _do_ anything with this information. Beetlejuice, however… he could definitely do something. He’d remember these dreams, too.

When he was just starting out his job as a bio-exorcist, working out the kinks of being a Guide to the Other Side, he would lay down in the nearest dry (or least-damp) spot, and attempt to sleep. Sometimes he wouldn’t see anything. Sometimes he’d fantasize when sleep failed to snag him and pull him under. But sometimes… sometimes he would dream of the Netherworld.

He could step into it, reach through to the other side and stare down dark, dark skies lit with no sun. He would see all sorts of demons and Newly Deads, and in the distance, a Great Abyss. It was like an odd homecoming without the actual _coming home_. And it happened so frequently, Beetlejuice often forgot it happened. That was, he forgot until he was _locked out of the Netherworld._

Then, and only then, had he noticed and _missed_ those dreams. He no longer saw those ashen, gray-green skies. He didn’t hear the howling of the damned or the hiss of smoke in the air. He didn’t feel anyone reaching for him, and he didn’t feel the tug of the abyss… in more than one way, it was almost _lonely_. It actually gave him a chance to be homesick. Not that he ever was; being homesick meant he missed his home and, by extension, the people in it. He didn’t miss his mom. He didn’t miss his dad, whoever that poor bastard was. He wasn’t sure what it was… the ambiance? The screams? The clammy skin that never, _ever_ seemed to stop being sweaty? No matter what it was, the Maitlands were clearly offsetting it.

They slept soundly. Really, they slept like the dead, which _is_ still funny, even if it isn’t said out loud. The only thing that _broke_ the sleep was Barbara’s snoring. Adam was a quiet sleeper, the kind that liked to scoot close and curl into the nearest source of warmth, quiet and conservative. Barbara was loud and uncaring, reaching across Beetlejuice to hold Adam’s wrist while her leg was thrown over Beetlejuice’s like a line that marked her territory.

He hadn’t planned to wake up before them. Truthfully, he’d never ‘spent the night’ with anyone before. All of his fun times with people had been one-off occurrences. A quick fuck and a slap on the ass as he left to go dick around somewhere else, metaphorically or literally. This was different. They hadn’t even had sex, and they were holding him close, like a large, freshly-washed teddy bear. He didn’t mind. It was _very_ nice and completely welcome… but he couldn’t settle back down.

A dream had woken him. One of the Netherworld. The Netherworld that he wasn’t allowed to enter as per his mother’s orders. The dream came with a flash of sound; a _screech_ of nails across a chalkboard. A quick-flash sight of a paper – _a summons_ addressed to Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth.

He’d woken up with a start, eyes wide and breath caught in his lungs; they knew it was him. They knew he’d stopped anyone from dying on that bridge. And beneath that paper… under the summons… he _swore_ it had been his mother’s desk. If _Juno_ was sending out his summons, he was in some deep shit.

Normally, little investigations like these were rare. An unforeseen accident occurred, and the planned death was delayed. _Shit happens_ , as many demons like to say. Civil servants were always the ones to draw up the summons – quaint, polite, and to the point – and the issue would be dealt with in a timely fashion. However ‘timely’ a registration office could be, anyway. There would be questions, explanations, and at the very least, the Guide would get a slap on the wrist. At the most, well… there was a reason there was always an open spot for the job: _shit happens_.

It wouldn’t be that easy for him. Beetlejuice knew that. Even if he was brought in for questioning, no one would listen to his side of the story, least of all Juno. What would happen to him? He was a demon. They could exorcise him. Send him to the great abyss from which he would most definitely _never_ return. Maybe, if they were feeling funky, they could just have him tortured for the rest of eternity – but everyone knows that torture for eternity gets dull after the first fifty years and the ghosts are just bored and waiting for the world to end after that.

So he sat awake with the Maitlands holding onto him like he was a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean. He still had a third arm slung over Adam’s waist – he was the cuddler, apparently – and their hands were still held together atop his stomach, holding him to the bed… but he felt far away from it. The feeling of them against him was good, it brought him back to himself every time they shifted or sighed… but it wasn’t enough to stop him from chewing through his lip anxiously.

If he was getting a summons – he’d never gotten one himself, before – did that mean he had to leave _right that minute_? Was he supposed to leave as soon as he woke up? If that was the case, he needed to put on his suit and go. But the Deetz’s and Lydia were still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake the Maitlands… so he was stuck.

Then again, did he even get a choice? Was he going to be unceremoniously yanked back into the Netherworld without warning? Would he get a chance to say goodbye, or would he be killed on the spot? Maybe they wouldn’t kill him. Maybe he’d been lucky and he could talk his way out of it. No… no he wouldn’t. This was his mother. This was Juno goddamn Shoggoth. She wasn’t going to let him get a word in unless he was begging for mercy.

“Beetlejuice?” Beetlejuice flinched when Adam said his name, and he turned his head to see Adam giving his hair a sleepy, worried look. “Your hair is turning white. Are you okay?” Beetlejuice didn’t say anything, and Adam shifted a little closer. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Beetlejuice snorted a laugh, attempting to break the tension. It didn’t work. The sound caught in his lungs, heavy and sticky like whiskey or dishwasher soap. “I _am_ a bad dream, Hot stuff.”

“You say that,” Adam said calmly as he put his head back against the pillow. “But we know you’re a big softie.”

“I’m a demon, Adam.”

“A soft demon.”

Beetlejuice made a show of pouting as he said, “Demons don’t go soft.”

“Of course not,” Adam agreed sleepily. He gave Beetlejuice’s chest a firm pat for good measure. “You’re ferocious. Very scary.”

“You’re humoring me,” Beetlejuice smiled, feeling a nice tingly sensation when Adam’s breath washed over the back of his neck with a laugh. He shifted a little and Barbara snuffled before relaxing against him. “Not sure how I feel about that. The whole… you know. Being ‘normal’ thing.”

“You’re not, I promise.” Adam’s voice was still calm. Still sleepy. Like his conversation was just a bout of pillow talk that he could do without effort. Beetlejuice would _never_ understand how people could talk about their _feelings_ so easily. “You’re not normal. You’re still _very_ strange.”

“And you like that?” Beetlejuice asked, a knot twisting in his stomach as he thought of the summons. “You _want_ something strange?”

“Well… it’s not just the strangeness of you that drew us in. It’s _all_ of you.” Adam yawned and pat Beetlejuice’s stomach, a nice, firm pat before he said, “You’re a good person, Beetlejuice. A little wild. A little eccentric. But I think we need that. I think we need fun. And you need someone stable.”

Beetlejuice snorted again. “You two are as stable as it gets.”

“Exactly. A relationship should be a place were _everyone_ benefits. Not just one party.”

“I like parties,” Beetlejuice said absently as his mind began to wander. “Actually, there was this time in France… 1789, I think? Anyway. Big party. Lots of rich weirdos. Lots of wigs and powder and _don’t get me started on the cake_ —”

Adam gave him another pat. “Please tell me this isn’t leading up to a story about how you slept with Marie Antoinette.”

“Ha! No, it’s not. But _damn,_ can you imagine?” Beetlejuice manifested a fourth hand to wave around in the air as he spoke. “All those layers. That would be a pain in the ass to pull off every time you wanted to get busy. No, I wanted to say—” a sickening thrum under his skin stopped him in his tracks. His tongue was still on the word, just about to shape it. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t think. Didn’t even breathe.

Next to him, Adam went stiff and stared at him. “Beetlejuice? What’s wrong?”

It was a Guide. He was being sent notifications of another Recently Deceased. Was it an actual job, or was he just being led like a lamb to the slaughter? He could ignore it. He could wait to see if another Guide got off their ass and took the job. But if he did, it would hurt his standing in the ongoing investigation. Why was everything so difficult?

“Beetlejuice.” Adam sat up, shaking his shoulder a bit as he said, “Beetlejuice, wasn’t wrong?”

On his other side, Barbara was slowly sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Woah, woah… what’s going on? Is something wrong?” She reached out and passed a hand through Beetlejuice’s hair. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. We’re here. You’re okay.”

Blinking a few times, Beetlejuice released his death-grip on the sheets and let go of the tension in his jaw. Looking at Barbara, he grumbled, “What color?”

“White,” Barbara said softly, “And now… now we’re going blue. It’s okay!” She laid down with him again, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his head so their noses touched and their eyes were too close to see clearly. “It’s okay.”

“You were afraid before, too,” Adam said, effectively ratting him out to Barbara. She got one of those Concerned looks on her face, and Beetlejuice felt himself shrinking in her hands. Adam gripped his shoulder a little tighter. “You seemed to calm down, but… just now…”

The feeling hadn’t gone away. Stopping a planned death always made waves in the Guide community, and now Beetlejuice was prime entertainment for the others. They were waiting for him to answer the call for a Recently Deceased. They wanted to see what would happen. They wanted to see him flail and fall. They were waiting for it… and who was he to deny an audience?

With one hand ghosting over the crest of Adam’s hip and the other kneading the small of Barbara’s back, Beetlejuice pasted on his best shit-eating grin. With enough bluster, he could make his hair green again. It just took a little false-confidence. If he was going down, he was going down with style. So he sat up, smoothed his hands back through his hair, and gave Barbara that sharp, dangerous smile. “What color now, Barbie?”

She smiled. “Green.”

Good. That was enough. Make them think that you’re fine, and they don’t need to know that your mom is planning to flay you in the Netherworld. With that same smile, he snapped his fingers and was out of bed dressed in his suit. “Hate to snuggle and run, but I’ve got a Guide.”

Adam and Barbara didn’t seem bothered. In fact, they seemed a little amused to watch him go. Adam actually stepped forward and straightened his tie. Beetlejuice wasn’t sure what to make of that; no one had straightened his tie for him aside from Maria. And even then, it was only because he’d purposefully loosened it. Adam was just fidgeting to fidget… except he did it with that same doting, warm smile he always wore when he looked at Barbara. It would take getting used to… if he was coming back here again. Hopefully he would. Maybe he could make a break for it.

That was doubtful. False hope only stings.

Barbara kissed his cheek, snapping Beetlejuice out of his thoughts as he gave her a baffled look. “Come home safe.”

_Come home safe_. Famous last words to a ghoul walking into a trap. But he smiled anyway. “Hey, you know me. Safe is my middle name. I _never_ get into trouble. Cross my heart and hope to live… _again._ ”

The Maitlands laughed, and he was free to slip out of the room and into the hall. Once there, he was able to shoulder open Lydia’s bedroom door. The tug of the Guide was still there, urgent and waiting… but he made sure to lean in Lydia’s doorway leisurely.

“Well. I’ve got a job.”

Lydia hardly looked up from her laptop. “Sure.”

“Means I’m out, Lydia.”

“Yeah. See you when you come back.”

Beetlejuice twitched and scratched a hand through his hair tiredly. “Yeah. Sure, kid.”

Finally, Lydia looked away from her laptop and made a dark face. “You’re being weird. What’s wrong?” She paused, then said, “Is this about the bridge thing yesterday?”

Beetlejuice laughed loud, hoping to shake the tension away (it didn’t work, laughing at it _never_ worked, no matter what he thought) before he gave Lydia a few finger-guns. “ _You’re_ being weird. Keep it real, you walking emo reject.”

Lydia gave him a bored stare. “Later, striped dork.”

With that, he was gone, answering the call for a Guide that _no one else_ had the balls to answer. They wanted to see him fail. He had no idea how many eyes were on him at that moment when he stepped into the small apartment.

It was filthy. Cluttered in a way that Beetlejuice _loved_. Newspapers from twenty years prior were rotting the floorboards beneath them. A fan was blowing in each corner, but the smell of must never dissipated. Magazines piled up together made a few small tables… though making it through the rest of the garbage hoarded in the place was difficult.

Crawling over a few molding stacks of newspapers was easy enough. He brushed a few tall stacks and they wobbled dangerously… but he didn’t see a body. Really, in an apartment this cluttered and all corners covered in hoarded papers and boxes, he’d be impressed if he could just find the body lying around in plain sight. A tote bag full of ghost-ready goodies was heavy on his shoulder as he shuffled forward, pushing his way through the clutter. He found a bedroom that was housing an impressive family of chubby mice. A bathroom that hadn’t seen the business end of a scrub brush for the better half of a decade. A kitchen that wasn’t so much a kitchen as a storage area for all the boxes and papers that didn’t fit in the living room.

But no body. No ghost, and no Guide to perform. Beetlejuice dropped the tote bag on the floor with huff; what was the point of coming here? Saying mediocre goodbyes only to have _nothing_ happen? He looked around angrily. He couldn’t have been the only one to get the notification of the Guide. But there was no ghost here. No poor sap to kick through a door… so what was this for? Beetlejuice blinked. It was to get him out of the house. It was to pluck him out of the place where he was comfy and cozy… and get him unawares. Did they know Lydia had been involved in the delayed death? Is that why they’d distracted him with the Guide? Beetlejuice’s eyes went wide; they got him out of the house… so they could get to Lydia.

A jolt of something cold went through him as he sent himself back to the Deetz household. Everyone was in the living room, fawning over something that Charles’ had bought and put on display on the table. No one suspected any danger. Nothing had really changed. When he appeared, the Maitlands looked up at him and smiled.

“Beetlejuice, look!” Barbara waved him over with that big, bright smile. “Charles bought a menorah!”

He took a half-step toward her, ready and willing to shake of the fake Guide. Maybe it was in his head. He was just psyching himself out again, like when Lydia was sick. It was a misunderstanding. And if he couldn’t get back to the Netherworld, there was no reason to worry about the summons. It wasn’t something he could deal with at the time. So why worry?

Without warning, the far wall was illuminated with a flash of green light, outlining a door that hadn’t been there before. Beetlejuice froze, his weight settled unevenly between his feet. The Deetz’s and the Maitlands turned to look at the door. Then, one by one, they all turned to him with heavy, concerned stares. They assumed it was _him_ … and honestly, he couldn’t blame them. Anything Netherworld-y was practically his domain. So when the door cracked open, he wasn’t at all surprised to see his mother shamble out of the green, billowing smoke.

Barbara and Adam were holding onto each other, trying to lean away from the doorway as must as they possibly could. Charles put an arm around Delia and Lydia, pulling them close as Juno stepped over the threshold on onto their recently redone flooring. Beetlejuice was alone. But he didn’t mind it. With the way his mother looked at him, even if someone _had_ put an arm around him, he felt utterly cutoff. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“ _Lawrence_ ,” she snapped, and his entire body flinched. The Maitlands were looking at him hopelessly, like they could puzzle out some sort of explanation as he stood there, paralyzed. Her dress was still that vibrant, violent red. Her lips still curled into that knowing sneer. It many ways, she hadn’t changed. The last time he saw her, she was eaten by a sandworm. Those were better times. “I saw your sorry name on my desk and I _knew_ you were causin’ trouble.”

Swallowing a mouthful of cotton, Beetlejuice fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Hi, mom.”

Juno hardly gave him a second look before she turned her sights on Lydia. “And _you_. I saw _your_ name on those papers. What do you think you were doin’?”

Lydia gave her a scathing look as her father held her close. “Minding my own business.”

Taking a shaking step forward, Beetlejuice raised his hands in surrender. “Look, Ma, it’s _my_ fault that—”

“ _Shut up!”_

Juno waved her arm at him and he went _flying_ across the room, hitting the wall hard as she Maitlands rushed to his side. He was a little dizzy where he hit the floor, but he saw Adam and Barbara kneeling in front of him, touching his arm, his shoulder, his hair… just to make sure he was alright. Of course he was alright. He was a demon. A little shove wasn’t going to kill him. Even so, they looked scared. They had every right to be.

This was Juno Shoggoth, after all.

Once her sights were set on Lydia again, Juno seemed to sharpen tenfold. “Sneaking into the Netherworld is _one_ thing… getting in the way of our work? That’s _another entirely._ ”

Beetlejuice was trying to scramble to his feet; this wasn’t good. Foreboding from the lips of a demon was _never_ good. The Maitlands helped him up, their hands tight in his as he swallowed thickly and looked between his mother and Lydia. Before he could jump forward to her defense, Adam leaned close and whispered in his ear.

“We just need a minute,” he said, like he knew _exactly_ what to do in this insane situation. On his other side, Barbara looked steely and determined. They were prepared. They were _ready_ for this. How? How did they know what to do? How were they so calm about this craziness? Beetlejuice gave him a simple, jerky nod, and Adam nodded back. “Okay. If you can give us a little time…”

“Lawrence has always been a pain in the ass,” Juno cut-in indelicately as she pointed a bone-thin finger at Lydia. “But I don’t have to put up with you getting in my way.”

Beetlejuice lurched forward, and the Maitlands let him go. Any closer to the door, and they’d be pulled through. Not Beetlejuice, though. He jumped forward, reading to put himself between Juno and Lydia… only to have Lydia fly through that door without so much as a warning. She screamed, dragged through the air by unseen hands and thrown through the door to the Netherworld.

“Lydia!” Charles flailed and reached for her desperately. “No! _No,_ Lydia!”

Beetlejuice didn’t think. He simply jumped forward, through that door, right after Lydia. The pain was quick, like fire erupted under his skin and iron nails scratched across every pore in his skin. With a flash of movement, he grabbed Lydia’s wrist and pulled her close to his chest. That stopped her tumble into the Netherworld, but it _also_ meant that he was stuck enduring the pressure of an unwelcome portal to the Other Side.

“Beej!” Lydia cried, her voice hardly audible under the screams of the damned and the hiss of the smoke. “Beetlejuice!”

“Hang onto me, kid!” Beetlejuice tried to pivot his head, to turn and see how to get back out… but his muscles seized. He held her close anyway. If Lydia was stuck here, she wasn’t going to face it alone. “You just hang on. I’m gonna get you out of this.”

“Beej,” Lydia said again, her arms tight around him as she held tight among the swirling smoke and darkness that crept inward. “I’ve been here once. I don’t... I didn’t want…”

Beetlejuice gritted his teeth and pressed his cheek to Lydia’s hair, trying and failing to escape the pain of his mother’s power against him. It still hurt. It hurt worse than so many other things. But he wasn’t going to let her get hurt. “Just hang on. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Shifting a little where they stood, Lydia looked up at him. She looked angry and bitter, ready to throw a fist if that would help the situation. He gave her what he hoped passed for a smile. It didn’t work with the responding frown he received; he was probably grimacing from the pain. Lydia reached up and tugged at a small handful of his hair.

“Never seen it go brown and gray before. You’re not gonna die on me, are you?”

Beetlejuice managed to hiss through clenched teeth. “Already dead, Lyds.”

Lydia squinted and turned to look at the fog. “We have to get out of here. Adam and Barb know what to do, we just gotta—”

“Yeah, yeah… let’s try to move.” Beetlejuice raised an eyebrow and stumbled toward the vague outline of a shaded door. It had to be the way back. There were no lights and Maria wasn’t standing outside the office smoking a cigarette. This was just a glimmer of light that could lead to _freedom_ and _safety_. Anywhere but this place, with this pain… but how would the Maitlands get rid of Juno? It would take one _hell_ of a mouthful of Latin to banish a demon. “How do Adam and Barbie know what to do?”

Now, Lydia tilted her head back and looked at him with a shaky smile. “They’ve had the book for a while Beej. Your mom left a weird fucking impression. They know how to get rid of her. We just have to get back.”

With an unsteady hand, Beetlejuice grappled for the open doorway and pulled himself through to the other side, falling back onto the floor of the Deetz house with an earthy _thud_. There, standing over him, Juno looked uniquely displeased. Beetlejuice’s head was spinning… the Deetz’s were startled to see him again. The Maitlands were nowhere to be found. He huffed and puffed, trying to shrug off the aftershocks of his pain. Next to him, Lydia’s body sprawled across the floor, limp and unmoving.

“Lydia! No… no, no,” Charles dropped to his knees next to her, turning her over and cradling her face. Her eyes were closed. Her chest was still. She didn’t even twitch. Delia leaned over her and held her hands, already crying as Charles gasped for breath. “No… _not my little girl_ …” he looked at Beetlejuice with fire in his eyes. “You… you let her…”

Beetlejuice clenched his jaw as Juno said, “That girl _needed_ to die. When you go to the Netherworld, you don’t come back.”

Charles looked up at her helplessly. “You… but you _forced_ her to—”

“Shut up,” Juno barked before she turned her sharp gaze on Beetlejuice. “And _you_. You delayed a death. Maybe this’ll make up for it. Teach you not to screw _everything_ up like you usually do.”

Beetlejuice wheezed as pain still jolted through him. “Mom, listen—”

“No! No, it’s time you listen to me, you little screw up,” Juno loomed over him, her skin wrinkled and paler than a mime and shaded in all the worst places. “If you weren’t so desperate for someone to love you, none of this mess would happen! I wouldn’t be cleaning up your messes for centuries! I wouldn’t have to _wish_ you’d never been born!”

There was a flicker of movement over Juno’s shoulder, and Beetlejuice caught it. It was the Maitlands. Adam was flicking through the Handbook for something specific, and Babara was gesturing to him, making a wild movement with her hands. She was making circles and mouthing the same words over and over. _Keep going?_ Keep going where? He wasn’t sure. If she meant he had to keep dealing with the verbal abuse, he could do that. He’d been doing that for hundreds of years.

“—if you could do your damn _job_ , this wouldn’t be an issue.” She took a long drag of her cigarette, the red-burning end illuminating her caked-on makeup before he she blew acrid smoke into the air. Then, she gestured to Lydia where she lay cradled in her father’s arms. “Now we’ve got paperwork for _this one_.”

“I’ve been _doing my job_ , Mom,” Beetlejuice managed to growl as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. The fire was no longer burning under his skin, but there were still pinpricks of pain. His mom may be a demon, but she was no Guide to the Other Side. With a sharp breath, he said, “And you don’t _need_ paperwork for the kid.”

“Right,” Juno cooed patronizingly. “Because _it was all_ your _fault,_ right? No need to punish the little girl if it was all you.” She leaned forward, grabbed a handful of Beetlejuice’s hair, and yanked his head up to meet her eye. “That’s not how it _works_ , Lawrence. A death for a death. That’s how it works. You’re not in charge here.”

“Neither are you!” Adam said from the stairway. Juno pivoted a little, giving Adam a sharp, inconvenienced look over her shoulder. Adam puffed out his chest anyway. He wasn’t scared of her. Not anymore. And damn, if that wasn’t sexy, nothing was. Barbara stood with him, a dangerous glare in her eyes as she held the banister. Adam was already reading from the passage, “ _Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos… man_ this is longer that I’d like it to be…”

Juno flinched at the words, her hand unlatching from Beetlejuice’s hair as she stepped back and snarled at Adam. He didn’t even flinch, reading louder as the air in the house started to crackle with energy. “ _Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia…”_

The house shook under them, and Beetlejuice was glad he was on the floor. Delia cradled Lydia’s head, holding her steady as the shaking intensified. Lydia opened her eyes, reaching up for her father and holding on tight as the house shuddered. Adam stumbled, and Barbara supported him, holding his arm as she said, “Keep going! It’s working!”

True to her word, Juno was shaking where she stood, hardly able to stand upright and dismiss them. She turned back on Beetlejuice, though. Her eyes were full of fire, angry and bitter as she glard at him. She didn’t reach for him. Beetlejuice doubted she was able to move anymore. A few more lines, and Adam would have her banished from the house. He gave her a wry grin.

“Sorry, Mom.” The house moaned, the floorboards creaked, and the air itself rumbled. Juno seemed to stumble under the weight of it all, her white curls bobbing as she tried to find her footing. Adam was shouting over it all, his glasses perched on his nose and hands gripping the glowing book as tight as he could. They had been _ready_. Ready to stop Juno, should she come back. Because they wanted him. They wanted to _keep_ him here. To keep him _safe._ Barbara was looking down at him, and when their eyes met, she gave him the most chaotic smile. Beetlejuice was more than happy to return it as he said, “Classic bait-and-switch. Oldest trick in the book.”

“This is _not_ over, Lawrence,” she growled, her voice layered with curses and vibrations from long-dead demons of the past. He didn’t lose his smile, and that only seemed to irritate her. “You don’t get to just write this off. A death was still delayed.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s going anywhere!” Lydia said from between her father and Delia, her eyes still sharp and hungry for justification. Her parents held her close, supporting and steadfast as Lydia said, “You don’t get to take him away.”

Adam was still babbling the banishment was Barbara leaned over the banister and shouted, “And as long as Beetlejuice stays here, you aren’t welcome!”

“… Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria!” Adam held the book close to his chest with fire in his eyes as he shouted, “ _Juno,_ _leave this house!”_

There was a thundering sound in the air, the run of wind from nowhere sweeping in through the halls and doors. The tension seemed to increase in the house, pressing down on every nerve while Beetlejuice closed his eyes. He heard a shriek, as if a banshee had decided to join in on the fun… but with a long, howling stream of wind… everything stopped. Everything was quiet. Beetlejuice opened his eyes… and he saw Lydia Deetz and her parents staring at him, bewildered but relieved.

On the stairs, the Maitlands were thoroughly ruffled but not broken. No one spoke for a long while, choosing to look around at the house, like Juno would burst out from behind the sofa cushions, yowling and wielding daggers. Shakily, Lydia and her parents stood up. Charles offered Beetlejuice a hand up, and he took it. He wasn’t about to pass up charity after all that shit.

The door to the Netherworld had closed, leaving the living room was unbroken and smooth where it stood. Slowly, the Maitlands descended the stairs, holding onto the banister like it would hold them up if their legs decided to fail them. He wouldn’t put it past them. They seemed like the fainting types. Even so, they made it to the living room floor in one conscious piece.

After a solid three minutes of silence, Beetlejuice ran a still-trembling hand over the front of his suit. “And _that_ ,” he said, “Is why I don’t like getting together with family over the holidays.”

At least Lydia laughed at him. Charles simply gave him a baffled look as the Maitlands came to meet them by the sofa. Once there, Lydia was sat down safely on the cushions. For the first time, Beetlejuice was given a look at the simple silver menorah that was put on display. They’d bought it because of _him_ , hadn’t they? Because of a simple conversation. Because of something _he_ said. And that… that was pretty damn nice, if he was honest.

Before he could sprawl out on the sofa and be relieved of standing, Barbara gathered him up in a hug, holding him so tight, he thought the seams of his coat would tear. Everything caught up with him. The pain of going through that blocked door. Saving Lydia. The summons, the dreams, the terror of his mother standing over him… he put one arm around Barbara and used the other to drag Adam forward. He came willingly, wrapping an arm around Beetlejuice’s shoulders as he pressed a kiss to his temple and held him close. That was pretty nice, too.

The Deetz’s were quiet. Maybe they already knew about Beetlejuice and the Maitlands. Maybe they didn’t have the energy to care about it. It was a weird Sunday morning, that was for damn sure. For one damn morning, it was a lot to take in. But it meant something. Something significant; he’d been protected by someone. No… not just one person. The entire household had come together.

Sitting on the sofa slowly, Charles pushed a hand back through his neatly-combed hair. “This has been an interesting morning.” Then, after a moment, he glanced at Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice could hardly meet his eye over Adam’s shoulder. “I hope you can forgive me for breaking the rules.”

Beetlejuice blinked and patted Barbara’s back comfortingly. He was rewarded with a tighter hug. “Forgive you for doing the what now?”

Delia crossed her legs where she sat in the armchair. “The Maitlands needed a minute to find the right spell. And Lydia looked like she was playing death, so… we lied.”

“In retrospect, it was at least a _little_ malicious,” Charles said tiredly as he scratched a hand through his beard. “Which we stated that malicious lies won’t be tolerated in the house.”

“Chuckles, c’mon,” Beetlejuice held out his hands in a vaguely helpless gesture. Behind cloaked by the Maitlands didn’t help his nonchalant and carefree attitude. “It was to keep Lydia from being shuffled off the mortal coil. I think a little fib is fine.”

Lydia made a pinched face as she reached out to fiddle with the menorah. “Went to the Netherworld for the second time… and I didn’t even get Edgar Allen Poe’s autograph.”

“Edgy teens need to suffer, Lydia,” Beetlejuice deadpanned. “It’s what makes them edgy.”

“Regardless,” Charles said irritably, “No more trips to the Netherworld.”

Lydia shrugged, and Beetlejuice could only smile at that. The Maitlands held tight. He doubted they would want to let go any time soon. They were brave in the moment, and then shaky in the aftermath. Either way, it was comforting. Just having them there, happy to have him with them, holding him close where he was safest.

Clapping her hands together just once, Delia smiled wide and said, “But this is a _good_ thing! Releasing all the tension that came from your mother coming after you… I think it’s healthy to have a safe place.”

“A safe place that you can _stay,”_ Barbara muttered into Beetlejuice’s chest.

Adam nodded and added, “And you can call that place _home_.”

“You guys are getting mushy on me,” Beetlejuice said softly, his arms fitting nicely around his partners where they stood hanging on him.

Partners… partners? What was this, a business deal? No, he’d just call them his Maitlands. It suited them better. And he had all the time to get used to this… _being wanted_ business. The longing stares, the tender touches, the soft words. It would take time. And he _had_ time. He had nowhere else he wanted to go. Nowhere he wanted to be. He was happy here.

 _Happy_ … that would take time adjusting to; _feelings_ and such.

On the sofa, Lydia leaned back and kicked her feet. “Beej! We get to light a candle tonight. You know the songs to sing?”

Beetlejuice gave her a wobbly smile. “Nah, kid. I hardly know anything.”

“I do,” Charles offered easily. “They’re not difficult to learn after a while. Practice makes perfect.”

Lydia grinned. “This is gonna be a bitchin’ Hanukah.”

Delia smiled and bounced a little where she sat. “I’ve done research on Chanukah… and now that we know no _unwelcome demons_ are going to break down the door… we can actually celebrate without worrying what comes next!”

“Yeah,” Beetlejuice said quietly. He really _didn’t_ have to worry about what came next. He could perform his Guides. He could relax in his room. Curl close to the Maitlands. Scare the mailman with Lydia. He didn’t _have_ to go back to the Netherworld. Not if he didn’t want to. And he _didn’t_ really… he had everything he wanted right here. All he had to do was follow some House Rules and he could stay. And from the looks of it, they were perfectly cozy with that idea. With a smile he knocked his head against Adam’s and held Barbara close. “Yeah… don’t gotta worry about what comes next. That’s pretty great.”

With a smile, Barbara stepped back to run a hand through his hair. “We’re ghosts, after all. We’ve got plenty of time to relax.”

Letting out a dramatic breath, Beetlejuice tilted forward to lean his weight against both Adam and Barbara. They held him up easily, laughing a little as they hugged him again. It was like a weird trust-fall that actually succeeded. Beetlejuice grinned. “I don’t have to worry about my mom _and_ I get to snuggle with two of the most vanilla ghosts in the afterlife? Not so bad, I guess.”

“Hey, _yeah_ …” Lydia piped up from the sofa. “Are you guys gonna explain all…” She gestured to the three of them vaguely. _“This?”_

Beetlejucie smoothed his hair calmly. “I’m the side-bitch.”

“He is _not!”_ Adam squawked nervously while Barbara giggled. Taking a hearty step back, Adam gestured between the three of them urgently, like he had to prove his point as fast as possible. “We are in a _relationship.”_

“Ha!” Delia clapped her hands and slapped Charles’ arm. “I _told you!_ I _told_ you they would get together…” Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers expectantly while Charles made a discomforted face. “That’s five dollars.”

While Beetlejuice laughed, Lydia made a horrified face. “Why was I left out of the bet? I knew about Beej crushing on them first!”

“Are we talking about this right now?” Charles asked helplessly. “Are we talking about this on the first day of Hanukah?”

Beetlejuice gave him sharp smile. “C’mon, Chuck… it’s not against the rules.”

When Delia laughed, Barbara only hugged Beetlejuice closer. She was still amused, but there was a blush burning on her cheeks. That only made Beetlejuice happier. The house was warm and people were laughing; it was almost as great as making people scream, just so he would feel seen. He _was_ seen… and this was just as good. With Adam leaning against his shoulder, hiding his face in Beetlejuice’s striped sleeve and Barbara giggling against his chest, he was more than comfortable. This was a good place. A safe place. _A home._

He’d never really had one of those before. But there it was, open to him. With Hanukah and the Maitlands and Lydia and the Deetz’s… it was a new world for him. A better world. A place where he was safe and welcome to be his strange and unusual self. He wanted that. He hadn’t known that he _wanted_ that. And now that it was his, he’d do anything to keep it.

He’d kill his mother again. He’d throw that scummy classmate of Lydia’s off the edge of that cliff. He’d scare away priests that tried to exorcise the Maitlands. He’d scare off the people that were threatening Charles and Delia’s realty business. If it would keep them here, happy and cozy in the house, it would be worth it. A couple-dozen murders or a half-baked curse, and he wouldn’t mind. He would exchange them for a comfortable bed, two soft ghosts, and an unusual, living family.

And, of course, their House Rules.

\+ END +

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah everyone!  
> This is a Christmas gift that I have been working on for a _while_ and I'm glad it was finished right on time.  
> I hope you enjoy the story, Olli. As many times as you like.
> 
> Just in case anyone wishes to complain: this was based on Beetlejuice: The Musical, not the movie.  
> Beetlejuice being Jewish was based on a performance where Beetlejuice wore a yarmulke during the wedding ceremony. Plus, there are more than enough Christmas fics. Time for some dreidel, everyone.
> 
> I'm on tumblr here: [[x](https://misplaced-my-notes.tumblr.com/)] Please feel free to drop by and say hi!  
> May the holiday season bring your warmth and happiness, no matter how you celebrate.  
> Love,   
> Miss Notes


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